


the third path

by hojichadust



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fantasy, Fiction, Historical, M/M, Medieval, blood and death, just general mayhem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 18:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hojichadust/pseuds/hojichadust
Summary: Title: The Third PathGenre: medieval!au, slight fantasy!auLength: ~23,700 wordsRating: RWarnings: graphic content, language, violence, mature themes, indistinct mentions of rapeA/N: originally posted for kaisooficrec's 10KFR Project, this fic is a take on (but not a direct replica of) Andrzej Sapkowski's The Witcher and its universe. several references are drawn specifically from his short story collection The Last Wish, and from the novel-based video game The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. credits to said references belong purely to Sapkowski and CD Projekt RED.a very special thank you to my two betas, Lulu and Julia, without whom this fic would be nowhere near as complete as it is now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Third Path  
> Genre: medieval!au, slight fantasy!au  
> Length: ~23,700 words  
> Rating: R  
> Warnings: graphic content, language, violence, mature themes, indistinct mentions of rape  
> A/N: originally posted for kaisooficrec's 10KFR Project, this fic is a take on (but not a direct replica of) Andrzej Sapkowski's The Witcher and its universe. several references are drawn specifically from his short story collection The Last Wish, and from the novel-based video game The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. credits to said references belong purely to Sapkowski and CD Projekt RED.  
> a very special thank you to my two betas, Lulu and Julia, without whom this fic would be nowhere near as complete as it is now.

 

On the dawn of the fortieth day, Kyungsoo arrived at the village.

It was nondescript, as inconsequential as every other peasant settlement in the country. The roads were torn and muddy from last night’s rain, deep with barrow wheel tracks. A few chickens tottered about. Most of the villagers were already awake, out to fetch water, browse the produce stalls.

The notice board was to the south of the village, situated across the road from the Silver Mink Inn and next to a patch of sunflowers, crowding the stump of an old, rotting tree. Some looked at him as he rode past, disinterested, or frightened, or wary. Recent wars had made them immune to the sight of sigils and plated armour, but Kyungsoo wore neither. He was strapped up in a combination of hardened leather and blackened chain mail, leaving him without a mark, unrecognizable; to the villagers he could have been any kind of trouble. Kyungsoo eased off his horse, Persimmon, and held the reigns as he glossed over the notices.

Missing goat. Matilda’s birthday party. An official statement about the summer harvest mass, posted by the Church of the White Oaks. Willing to trade for a silver soup ladle, see Lars. Swordsman needed.

The last one Kyungsoo read carefully. A villager emerged from a nearby hut and staggered over to stand next to him, scratching his belly. He smelled of sour milk.

“You’s a knight?” the man drawled crudely.

“No,” Kyungsoo said.

“Ye, ya don’t look like one. Knight’s armour’s shiny. Bet yer some sort of hunter, eh?”

“Where is your lord’s estate?”

“S’over there, up that road. Keep your right ear to the sun, up the fork. He’ll be on a hill of burdock.”

“Thanks.”

The villager picked his nose as he watched Kyungsoo climb up his horse. “You’ve got some fine armour there, stranger. You ain’t a knight, then ye best keep an eye on it. Merchant’ll pay a pretty penny for that leather.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kyungsoo said.

 

The Agelheart Estate was enclosed within a wooded pasture, rolling hills of dogwood and potentilla bending the road leading up to stone walls. The gates were open, built of fine heavy iron, a roaring bear’s head ornamenting the thin bars.

The courtyard was not well-kept, but it was clean. Unpruned rosebushes swarmed the cobblestone paths, branches sagging beneath the weight of its own blooms. A fountain stood with moss and dirt covering the exposure-worn cracks, edges rounded with rain and sun. Unattended, a small black dog trotted about and sniffed at the patches of dandelions. He paid Kyungsoo no mind.

The mansion, by comparison to its underwhelming grounds, is effectively impressive. Its reinforced walls of white plaster and sloping red tile stood erect against the eyesore blue shining overhead. It had not been built very long ago. Heavy olive-gold drapery peeked out from three flights of windows. The double-doors were of thick oak, intricately carved, two more bear’s heads hanging in the form of solid brass knockers.

“And what is it you want, then?”

Kyungsoo craned his neck up. From the large balcony overhead a young boy was leaning against the banister, the sleeves of his blouse hanging like hammocks from the skinny arms crossed over the railing. He was fair, cheeks freckled slightly with the sun, the muscle between his dark eyes clenched tight. Kyungsoo was putting his bets that this wasn’t the lord, or even the lord’s boy—his blue tunic was plain, without ornamental embroidery, and did not extend to his knees the way it often did among the wealthy.

“I’m looking for the lord of the manor,” Kyungsoo said. He held his gaze, undeterred by the boy’s bluntness. “I’m here about the notice.”

“You a knight?”

Kyungsoo sighed. “No.”

“Lord Jongin doesn’t deal with common vagabonds,” the boy announced, shoulders squared. “You have no business here. Off to the highways with you!”

“Luhan, will you shut your bloody mouth?” a voice carried out from within, sounding exasperated. As if yanked by a chain the boy turned and darted back into the manor, without so much as a parting glance, a wisp of light hair gleaming in the sun before he disappeared.

Kyungsoo rocked back and forth on his heels patiently and waited until the manor doors opened.

“Go on, get out of my sight,” someone said, shooing the boy out, who now had a small satchel in his hand. “And tell your mother to send your brother next time. I’ve had it up to here with you making a mess of my cellar stores.”

Luhan didn’t say anything, and he stuck his tongue out at Kyungsoo as he ran past, his satchel jingling and shoes kicking up mud in his wake.

“My apologies for that,” the voice from within said, and finally took a step out, so that he stood straddling the doorway. “Cobbler’s son. We let him earn a few coins and a full belly for feeding the horses.”

The man was young, no older than Kyungsoo, but a few inches taller. His posture was prim, his expression the appropriate balance of polite study, but his wine-red robes were dishevelled and improperly bound upon his figure, as if he’d been dressing himself in the dark. He had fine features, a strong jawline and wide forehead, typical of nobility; but there was also a uniqueness in the pouty mouth and feline eyes. A single ruby-set gold ring adorned his slim hands—the family heirloom.

Kyungsoo turned to face him fully. “I’m here about the notice,” he said, exactly as he’d done to the boy.

The man blinked. “Notice?”

“This one.” Kyungsoo retrieved the parchment from the crevice of his breastplate and unfolded it. The man took it gently, read over its contents. “It was posted back in town.”

“Oh,” the man said. “Oh. Gods, I’d posted this ages ago, I didn’t think anyone would…” He seemed to come to himself, and extended his hand. “Jongin, first son of the house Kim.”

“Kyungsoo, of Brodich.”

“I’ve heard of the one. Lovely town, by all rumours. Please, come inside.”

Kyungsoo looked around. There was something deeply peculiar about the place, and it didn’t take long for him to figure out what. The manor was completely barren of staff. From the foyer to the dining hall, not a single footman, steward, or housekeeper could be spotted. The floors were clean, but the vases and sculptures decorating the furniture were covered in a thin layer of dust. An odd smell pervaded the place, as if someone had cooked several meals at the same time and then left all of the food out uneaten. It explained a few things, including the lord’s sloppy visage; it was likely that he was, in fact, dressing himself. When Kyungsoo was seated, Jongin left to fetch his own wine and goblets, and an offering of slightly-overripe peaches.

“Quite the space you’ve got to yourself,” Kyungsoo said, as Jongin set the tray down.

“Ah—yes. A lot of our staff…they quit, a little while ago.”

“Any reason in particular?”

Jongin shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. The family’s come under some heavy speculation. It…has something to do with the notice I posted.”

“Start from the beginning.”

“Y-Yes, of course. Please, help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo said, and picked up one of the peaches, turning it over in his hands.

Jongin leaned back against his chair for a moment, and then abruptly remembered who he was and sat up again, folding his hands on the table and clearing his throat. “My cousin,” Jongin said, and cleared his throat again. “I have a cousin, Joonmyun, first born of Lothair. A little while ago he’d been on the road, settled in Elburry for a bit on some business. It seems he’d been studying under their apothecary, learning botany, alchemy, something of the sort. Wasn’t anything unusual in that, he always talked of becoming an army doctor. The details have been skewed, but rumour has it his teacher’s work dabbled in…the darker arts. You know, spells, witchcraft, all the like.”

“Dangerous times to be taking an interest in witchcraft,” Kyungsoo said. The sound of nails clicking against tile drew close, and the black dog from the gardens trotted into the room, again unaccompanied. He sniffed the leg of Kyungsoo’s trousers, and then sat at his feet, ears perked and gaze locked on the potent-smelling fruit. “Let me guess. Their work didn’t sit well with the villagers.”

Jongin grimaced, ashamed. “The Church caught wind of it. He—my cousin, and the apothecary—they were impaled. Needless to say it sent the family name into shambles. Locals are afraid our bloodline houses some old, malevolent magic. Baseless accusations, to be sure, but it’s made something of our household all the same. So many of the staff quit. I’ve only got the game keeper and a single chamber maid left.”

Kyungsoo dug his thumb into the fruit. The flesh gave way easily, nearly blood-red with ripeness, the juices running down his finger to stain his wrist. “You want me to retrieve the body.”

“I—that’s…that’s part of what I want. I want to retrieve the body myself. Bring it back to be buried. But I fear going alone.”

Kyungsoo relaxed, wiped his sticky hand on his trousers. “A bodyguard. Well, that’s certainly a service I can provide.”

“Were you expecting different?”

“When you said retrieving the body was only part of it, I assumed you were going to ask me to execute the ones responsible for your cousin’s death. But from the way you talk, crossing blades seems inevitable. Are the villagers hostile?”

“I—I figure they might be. Calling on the Church and all. I heard it was a full house the night they were killed.”

“Then let’s discuss my reward,” Kyungsoo said, returning the uneaten fruit to its platter. The black dog craned its neck, trying to lick his hand. “You set a fair deal. But consider this a hazard raise. I’ll settle for an additional 30 crowns on your asking price.”

“Price is irrelevant,” Jongin said dismissively. He was leaning forward in his chair now, eyes brightening with the prospect of seeing a just end. “So you’ll take the job?”

“Hold on,” Kyungsoo said, lifting his hand placidly. “One more thing. I need you to extend your hospitality to me over the course of the next moon cycle.”

Jongin balked. “I—pardon?”

“Your house. I’m sure it’s got plenty of room with most of your family and staff gone. I need somewhere to stay, a roof over my head for the next three weeks. One of your villagers advised me against staying at the local inn. Theft seems to be a problem down there.”

“Poverty, I’m sure you mean,” Jongin said, but he still looked bewildered. “I—I don’t understand. Three weeks?”

“Three weeks. No more, no less. Well, unless chance should have it that I need to leave sooner than that. But the stay would not be indefinite. If it’s a matter of exhausting your supplies then I’ll pay a rental fee.”

“No, it—that’s not—I’m sorry, it’s just a little difficult for me to take in. No one’s ever asked me…”

“I would say no rush,” Kyungsoo said, rising idly from his chair, “but I don’t know how long your cousin’s corpse has been sitting in the village square.”

Jongin paled. “N-No, you’re right, of course, I’ll—would it inconvenience you to ride out at first light tomorrow?”

“As long Persimmon gets some water and food before we depart, I don’t see why not.”

“Persimmon? Oh, of course, your mare, yes, I’ll get some oats fetched for her right away.”

Then Jongin did the unexpected thing, and grasped Kyungsoo’s right hand in both of his. Kyungsoo barely avoided flinching, startled, with Jongin’s eyes ablaze as he looked at him.

“I can’t tell you how important this is to me,” Jongin said. “Thank you, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo eased his hand away as politely as he could. “You might want to save your thanks until after the body’s retrieved. Afraid I can’t tell you how much of it there’ll be left to get.”

 

 

With Jongin preparing for tomorrow’s voyage, he ordered his single chamber maid, a girl named Irene, to draw Kyungsoo a bath, and fetch a basin and shaving cream for him. The black dog—whose name was Fergus, as it turned out—trotted into the bathroom after him and sat down to one side as Kyungsoo got undressed. “Like what you see?” Kyungsoo said.

Fergus sneezed.

It was his first hot bath in days, and the relief was acute as he slipped into the water, muscles sore and worn from endless riding. A bar of soap had been left for him, made from boiled figs and lemon rinds. He thoughtlessly sudsed through his hair and over his body both. Soon his skin was two shades lighter, the dirt settling at the bottom of the tub.

Kyungsoo leaned his dripping head back against the rim. Living on the road was a much more trying task than he’d anticipated, finding work even more so. He learned after the first job that chasing down a runaway sow barely paid enough for horse feed, and after the second that sometimes villagers were desperate enough to propose more than what they had to offer, forcing him to walk with only half the promised reward. Bartering, haggling, even threatening; once, he’d never known those things, but the open fields were harsh. If he’d continued letting people swindle him he’d have been dead a week and a half ago.

As far as this job went, he could be comfortable for a month, if he was really getting his two hundred and seventy crowns. Jongin struck him as a deeply nervous man, one who didn’t know what to do with the trials he now faced, and it made him transparent. Kyungsoo knew little of the region, didn’t know how the master of the house had come into his fortune so young, without aunts or uncles or siblings to be seen anywhere, but doubtless Jongin was alone, and too naive for his own good. Any old thief would have made a field day of demanding payment up front and then slitting his throat for the rest of his treasures. Heck, the villagers could have done the same, if they’d mustered their stupid cow brains together.

The bath rejuvenated him, and after rinsing off and making use of the razor, he found that a fresh shirt had been laid out for him, and that his trousers had been dried near the fire and then beaten with something to clean it of mud stains, his boots brushed to similar effect. Kyungsoo dressed and carefully strapped all of his armour on, looped his longsword back around his waist.

He found Jongin near the stables, speaking to a man who could only be the gamekeeper, considering he had a pair of rabbits gripped in his left hand by the necks. Jongin turned and introduced him as Yixing. “I’ve just explained that he and Irene are to look after the place in my absence,” Jongin said.

Yixing gave him a stern once-over as he shook Kyungsoo’s hand, while the latter tried not to grimace when he realized his palm was still stained with rabbit’s blood. “So you’re a swordsman, are you?” Yixing said.

“Yes.”

“Where have you trained?”

Kyungsoo sensed then that he wouldn’t get away with spewing anything so easily now. “I didn’t study at an academy, if that’s what you mean. Our old blacksmith taught me, back in my village. He’d lived on the islands and served the jarl there for most of his life.”

“No interest in joining the Church or the Guard?”

“Definitely not the Church. The Guard turned me away on account of my knee. Twisted it bad falling from a horse once.”

“Does it encumber you?” Jongin cut in, looking worried.

“Only if I walk a great distance. But the Guard didn’t want to take any chances, should it lock up or give way at an inopportune moment.”

Yixing only looked only mildly convinced. When Jongin went away to help Irene hang bed sheets, the game keeper said, in a voice that came off as a veiled threat, “You look after him.”

Kyungsoo bowed respectfully, and Yixing threw him one more glare before leaving to skin the game.

 

Dinner was rabbit stew and day-old bread, and both Yixing and Irene were invited to sit at the dining table, a sight unheard of at any other lord’s estate, under normal circumstances. Yixing ate little and quickly, retreating to plow the last of the fields before sunset. Irene left soon after to prepare a bed for Kyungsoo.

Jongin noticed Kyungsoo studying the family portraits hanging on the walls. “That’s me with my mother’s side of the family,” he said, indicating the largest one. “My father had no siblings, otherwise they’d have been in the portrait as well. My mother’s two older sisters and their husbands. Joonmyun is the eldest child standing to the left. And that’s me, the baby in my mother’s arms. Can you see?”

“I can,” Kyungsoo said.

“That was done not too long before my father passed away. They said it was some deformity of his heart. After that it was me with my mother and two sisters. All girls. Not much fun for building slingshots.”

“Where are they now?” Kyungsoo asked plainly.

Jongin’s eyes flitted to his plate. “My sisters are married now, moved east with their husbands to live on the other side of Londerrtain. My mother…she’d been of weak health for a while. The news of my cousin was too much for her to bear.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Correct me if I’m wrong. Your cousin…”

“Has been dead for approximately fifteen days.”

“So, your mother passed—”

“Eleven days ago,” Jongin said stiffly. “Forgive me, I don’t wish to dwell on it.”

Given the choice dwelling on it was exactly what Kyungsoo wanted to do. “Alright,” Kyungsoo relented after a moment.

Jongin took a deep breath and looked back up at the paintings. “That’s me and my sisters there,” he said, pointing to another one. Two girls of equally attractive features flanked a small boy no older than five, all three of them scowling against the bright sun. “They used to put me in dresses and tie my hair, when I was small enough for them to get away with it. But I grew fast. First time I pushed one of them over they stopped right away.”

Jongin, Kyungsoo decided, must not have had a real conversation with someone for some time. Yixing and Irene didn’t look much like chatters either.

“It’s still strange that they’re gone,” Jongin continued. “Even in our adult years we’d tease and rib at each other. Perhaps once this is done with I’ll pay them a visit. Do you have any siblings?”

“I do,” Kyungsoo said. “An older brother. I haven’t seen him since he married, either.”

“Suppose that’s how it works,” Jongin said, trying a tiny smile. “Got to leave the nest to make one of your own.”

“Probably best that way,” Kyungsoo agreed amiably, wiping his bowl clean with the last of his bread before popping it into his mouth. “I won’t keep you. You’ll need a full night’s rest for the journey.”

“Ah, yes.” Jongin stood up as Kyungsoo did. “Um…thank you, again. For helping me.”

“Of course,” Kyungsoo replied, before promptly leaving to find his room, unaware of the still-curious gaze that trailed his back as he went.

 

 

The first signs of daybreak streaked the sky with violet-blue as the two men saddled their horses and mounted, Jongin’s mouth set in an anxious but determined line. Yixing, Irene and Fergus came out to see them off and stood side-by-side, one with her hands folded neatly in front of her, the other with his hands more casually stuffed into his pockets. Fergus stood with his tail wagging, but he whined, sensing that his new friend was going somewhere he could not follow.

“The journey should take no more than six days,” Jongin said, sounding more sure of himself than he looked. “If I anticipate that it will take longer I’ll send word to you.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Yixing said.

Seeing as he had not met them very long ago, Kyungsoo didn’t give any parting remarks, except to nod at the dog, and merely clicked his tongue, nudging Persimmon forward. With a somewhat clumsy motion Jongin urged his dappled grey mare after him, and the two of them eased into a trot as they veered off the estate and onto the main road.

 

 

“So were you always a swordsman?”

Despite looking uncomfortable and out of his element, Jongin did his best to entertain his hired help—“entertain” being the intended effect, but the conversation didn’t venture far beyond simple inquiries or comments towards their surroundings. “Look there, how that patch of weed blossoms such delicate flowers,” it was one moment, and then, “Don’t you find that leather difficult to move in?”

Kyungsoo couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate his effort, but the effort was so apparent that it just made it still the more awkward.

“Not always,” Kyungsoo said, leading. Their shortcut through the woods led the path to turn narrow, too narrow for both horses to ride side-by-side. “I was a farm boy once, like most folk. Shelled the peas and fetched the eggs and all that.”

“So why were you trained?”

“Blacksmith liked me, I suppose. I certainly took enough interest for him to like me. Then again, he never bore children. Maybe he was hoping that I’d ask after the craft someday, take over the lodge.”

“Your parents raised no objections to you leaving the farm?”

“If they did they knew it didn’t matter much. My older brother’s already got two little ones, a third to come by winter. They manage fine without me.”

There was a bout of silence, in which Kyungsoo expected he wouldn’t hear the next question till another twenty minutes from now, but after a few beats Jongin spoke again.

“My mother never let me play with the village children,” Jongin admitted. “My father liked them well enough. He traded goods with them, knowing cloth and plums were harder to come by than trout or potatoes. He asked after their families and sent flowers if someone was sick. But I never once saw my mother speak to them. She’d turn their nose up when they came. If the village boys came around to ask if I wanted to go fishing or berry-picking with them, she’d push me further into the house, insist that I never go out or speak to them. She was worried I would grow stupid, or vile, spending time with them. So for a long time I didn’t know of farm life, or company, besides the servants and the tutors.”

“What a hard, lonely life it must have been,” Kyungsoo said, tersely. “Maybe your mother was right. Maybe you would have grown stupid and vile, and spent your time rolling in the hay and picking hollyhocks instead of looking for a stupid, vile farm boy to help fetch your dead cousin.”

There was a pause. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. Here’s something your mother probably never mentioned when she shut you indoors. It’s that stupid and vile as we may be, we get offended too. Nobody likes hearing that a person grew up too good to partake in modest work, and they don’t like hearing talk about themselves in the third-person. If you’d tried that trick in another village you’d have been booted out on your arse with pitchforks behind you, or worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Jongin said again, in a small voice. “I-I didn’t—I’ll be more careful with my words next time.”

For someone who was as secluded in childhood as he claimed to be, he certainly wasn’t very spoiled or pompous-sounding; most other lords would have gotten all puffed up and red in the face and thrown their titles around, not knowing that it didn’t mean pig shit to anyone with a sword on their hip and bellies to feed. Not expecting such a timid answer, Kyungsoo left it at that, allowing the silence to come over them again. Persimmon tossed her head, having grown agitated at the tone of Kyungsoo’s voice. Kyungsoo ran his hand over the mare’s neck to soothe her.

“Village isn’t for some miles yet,” Jongin murmured, less sure of himself. “Did…do you want to rest?”

“No. Not unless you think your horse needs one.”

“Oh, I…I think she’s okay.” Jongin looked down at his mare, Moonshine. “This is only the second time I’ve ever ridden her. I never had much reason to travel.”

“Surprising. You could, if you wanted to. Your house is clearly empty.”

Jongin winced a little. “Yes.”

Kyungsoo looked up at the tree line for a moment, then gave a sigh. “We can rest, if you want to.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.”

“Don’t be shy. It’s better to be in good shape while we’re moving.”

Jongin paused. “Maybe…maybe in another half hour or so.”

“That’s alright,” Kyungsoo said, trying to make it sound like an invitation. He means well, Kyungsoo decided. Heart’s in the right place, anyway. Maybe I should go easier on him.

Persimmon snorted and suddenly shook her neck, irritated, and Kyungsoo turned and saw that Jongin hadn’t reigned in his steed in time and bumped into Persimmon’s haunches. “Sorry!” Jongin squeaked.

Kyungsoo sighed.

 

Elburry, in comparison to the village of Hawick from which they’d come, was no bigger but substantially more pleasant to the eye. To the right of the village was an orchard, from which red and yellow apples were already falling, and to the left were vast fields of wheat, where several villagers worked with stooped backs, pulling the weeds from between the stalks. They arrived just as the sun was beginning to set on their second day.

The stake from which Jongin’s cousin was impaled was visible against the horizon, towering over the stooped village huts. Death by impalement had been an inherently feminine method of execution, so they would have had to make an incision in the body first before driving the stake up between the legs, travelling through the torso until its sharpened tip made its appearance between the slackened jaws at the neck. From first glance Kyungsoo saw that it had been here for well over a week since his death; crows and other carrion-eaters had eaten their fill already. What decaying flesh still clung to the bones reeked, sending a repugnant stench downwind. The corpse’s face was utterly unrecognizable.

The colour drained from Jongin’s face, and he stumbled off his horse just in time to drop on all fours and vomit on the side of the road. Kyungsoo barely noticed him, too focused scanning the village perimeter, eyes narrowed. Joonmyun’s stake was the only one erected here.

“What’s your business?”

Kyungsoo turned. Three villagers approached, a scowl pulling their dirty faces. Their tunics were ripped and patchy, their leather shoes filled with holes. Around them, the other inhabitants poked their heads out of their windows, watching them.

Kyungsoo faced them and motioned at the rotting carcass with his head. “We’re here for the body,” he said calmly.

“That piece of scum was committing blasphemy,” the first villager said. One of his friends spit on the ground behind him. “Was making them spells and other witch things. We heard.”

“And his friend?”

“If he got any, they sure as hell ain’t here.”

“Well, regardless,” Kyungsoo said, “his family wants to bury him in the family crypt.”

“He can’t. Church’s orders were clear. He has to stay on that pike till his carcass falls apart. You ain’t taking him anywhere.”

Kyungsoo subtly looked around. They certainly had the whole village’s attention now. Everyone had stopped what they were doing, soapy laundry halfway scrunched against washboards, children pulled in from their flower picking by the shoulders to be anxiously pressed against their mother’s legs. Not even a dog could be heard barking.

“This is a fight you don’t want to start,” Kyungsoo said.

“Shut your mouth, cunt,” the villager said, pulling out a bludgeon, and his two friends did likewise, advancing. Kyungsoo spread his feet and put his hand on his sword.

“Wait!” someone cried, and Kyungsoo’s view became obstructed by a head of dark hair. The villagers did not wait, and promptly back-handed Jongin across the face, a loud thump that sent the boy sprawling to the ground.

Kyungsoo drew his sword immediately, and before the head of the ring could wind up again he lunged in and slashed him from his wrist to his elbow. The villager howled and dropped to his knees, blood spurting wetly against the dry ground. The second one charged forward with a yell, but he was blundering and clumsy; Kyungsoo evaded him easily and flicked his wrist twice, one across the belly and cutting through his tunic to leave a wide, shallow cut, the second travelling up his left cheekbone, nearly slicing his ear clean in half.

The third seemed to be too slow to process what had just occurred, and his face was an expression of pure, simple blood thirst as he raised his bludgeon over his head with both hands. Kyungsoo ducked, side-stepped, and with one clean swipe slashed open the tendons at the back of his heels. The villager crumpled instantly, his legs giving way beneath him, leaving all three of them wailing and bleeding against the dirt.

Instinctively Kyungsoo lifted his blade, looking around for other attackers, but there were none; only a single scream from one of the wives somewhere that he couldn’t pinpoint, fear etched into the faces of the onlookers as they cowered back. After waiting several moments to ensure that it was over, Kyungsoo leaned down and wiped his sword clean on the trousers of one of the villagers, who had fainted from the shock of his injuries, and sheathed it.

He approached the stake, looking it up and down before giving the base a push. It shifted a little under the force; clearly the villagers hadn’t gone to much trouble to stick it deep into the ground. Kyungsoo wrapped his arms around the peeling wood carefully and began to pull, a grunt leaving his lips. It took a couple of minutes, a sweat breaking out over his forehead, but soon the stake gave way, the bottom of it lifting up to graze the surface of the dirt. Kyungsoo had to use all his strength to lower it slowly, and not let it crash to the ground on its side, so that what was left of the body wouldn’t fall apart on him.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo panted, straightening up. “Give me a hand with this.”

There was no response. Kyungsoo looked over and saw that Jongin was still sitting on the ground, a messy cut across his temple from where the villager had hit him. He kept pressing his hand to the wound and then staring at the blood on his hand, eyes blank. Kyungsoo realized then that he was dealing with someone who had never been injured before, really injured, and was going into shock.

“Shit,” Kyungsoo muttered.

He turned back to the body and grabbed it beneath the armpits, back straining as he slowly pulled the body off of the pole. The tip disappeared back into his throat, travelling through the corpse until making its re-appearance from between his legs. Kyungsoo grabbed the blanket hanging off the side of Persimmon’s saddle and wrapped the body up to the best of his ability. Then he threw it over Persimmon’s haunches, who stamped her feet in protest, clearly not enjoying the smell it emitted either.

“We’ve got to go. Come on, get up,” Kyungsoo said, bending over and grabbing Jongin’s arms to haul him to his feet. Jongin stood up numbly, still shaken, and he had to be led to his horse and instructed into the saddle.

The last thing Kyungsoo did, after swinging himself up into his own, was take a pouch and throw it at the feet of a woman frozen nearby, who stifled a shriek and startled back. “Compensation for the body, and for wounding your villagers,” Kyungsoo said. “Dress the wounds now, before an infection settles in.”

The woman nodded her head jerkily. Kyungsoo urged both of the horses forward, and left the village without another look back.

 

They rode for a few miles, until Kyungsoo deemed it safe, before directing them into the brush and tying the horses up. By this point Jongin was looking pale and woozy again, the blood drying in blackened streaks down the side of his face and neck.

“Here,” Kyungsoo said, lifting his hands up. Jongin looked over, still a little muddled, but he slowly eased off of the saddle with Kyungsoo’s help. Kyungsoo directed him to sit against the trunk of a tree.

“You okay?” Kyungsoo asked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pouring some water from his canteen over it.

Jongin swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing for several moments as Kyungsoo began to dab his face clean. “Y-Yes.”

“Stupid of you to run in like that. Said yourself the villagers might be hostile.”

“I, I didn’t think—I wasn’t armed, I didn’t think they would—”

“I’m sure your cousin wasn’t armed when they impaled him either.” Kyungsoo pulled out his rubbing alcohol next and wet his handkerchief again. Jongin flinched when the cloth came in contact with the wound, but he didn’t make a sound. “Next time, leave the rash decisions to me.”

Jongin lifted his eyes to examine Kyungsoo’s face. His pupils were shaking. There was fear in them, fear of having been attacked, of having faced death at the hands of some bloodthirsty villagers. He startled a little every time Kyungsoo touched him. “You sure you’re alright?” Kyungsoo asked.

“I am. I just needed to sit down for a bit.” Jongin licked his dry lips as he looked at him. “I…didn’t know you could do that.”

Kyungsoo paused, lowering his hand and exhaling carefully. “I can. And I can see from your face that you’re well aware of what I can do, now. So I’m going to ask you to tell me the truth right now, because it would be in your best interest to do so.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the shit,” Kyungsoo said in a low voice. “You told me your cousin was an apprentice to an apothecary, but his stake was the only one around. The villagers said he didn’t have anyone with him. Tell the truth. What was your cousin really doing?”

For a moment it seemed as though Jongin wouldn’t answer, too gripped with fear, his mouth trembling. It took him a minute to gather the courage to find his voice, clearing his throat.

“My cousin was betrothed to his beloved,” Jongin said, in an unsteady voice. “A girl from some high-standing family in the mainland. Our family is not particularly wealthy, but my cousin worked his fair share, hoping to gain enough standing to win over her parents. I suppose it worked, for a time. News of their wedding floated by.

“You can imagine a beautiful and wealthy girl of twenty is not without more suitors than she can count on her hands and feet. It seems my cousin was outbid. Her parents took a more…lucrative interest, I suppose, in wedding their daughter to a Middle Eastern prince. Nothing particularly outstanding where they come from, but a prince all the same. My cousin was devastated. Said it was true love, that she loved him more than any gold some far-away prince could offer her. I’m afraid I’m not certain of the details.”

“But you know something,” Kyungsoo said, eyes trained over the lord’s expression carefully.

Jongin bit his lip. He couldn’t meet his eye. “I don’t know. That’s the honest truth, I’ve no idea what really happened. There have been rumours, deeply troubling ones, that say my cousin was desperate, that he began looking into ways to dissolve the engagement. The problem lies in the fact that, whatever he did…it worked.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo said, “come again?”

“It…it worked. Some extended uncle from Gods knows where had died suddenly, left ‘his favourite nephew’ a staggering fortune. To make matters worse that Middle Eastern prince disappeared, completely out of the blue. Not a silken scrap nor sapphire-studded sabre left of him. And the girl, his beloved…she all but lost her senses. It’s said she did nothing but babble endlessly of marrying Joonmyun, even if he was there with her, the girl clinging to his arm like a leech. She’d enter a frenzy if anyone tried to tell her otherwise.”

Kyungsoo rested his weight back on his heels, sighing through his nose. Jongin looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “What do you think of it?”

“Sounds like your cousin got some serious help,” Kyungsoo said simply. “Unnatural deaths, disappearances, strange behaviour. There’s no way he did all this on his own. The possibilities are endless, at this point. Do you know what became of your cousin’s betrothed?”

“I’ve only heard stories. It got to the point where she no longer had enough mind to care for herself. She became decrepit, utterly despondent whenever my cousin left her alone for any period of time. And then one day he left to buy her some flowers, and she just…died. The doctors said it was from grief.”

“Then it was foolish of us to come here,” Kyungsoo said, throwing the handkerchief into Jongin’s lap angrily. “You have no idea what your cousin was dealing with. Devil knows who or what it was, but they weren’t playing around when they was carrying out Joonmyun’s wishes. You should have told me the damn truth from the start. If they figure out that we’ve caught on to this—”

“What about you?” Jongin shot back, eyes blazing now. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I don’t know a skilled swordsman when I see one? Either your blacksmith mentor was more than just a blacksmith or you’ve been lying to me too. Are you even a village boy? Who are you, really?”

Kyungsoo pressed his mouth into a hard line. “Not now. I’ll save that for when we get back safe to your manor. And that’s assuming I survive long enough under your game master’s wrath. I’m sure he won’t like to see that I’ve brought you back in less than perfect condition. Now come on, let’s start moving if you think you’re not going to throw up again.”

He stood up, muscles sore from squatting so long, but before he could go anywhere Jongin scrambled up and grabbed his arm.

“Wait,” Jongin said, “There’s still—we don’t know what really happened. You’re right, the possibilities are endless. But he was being helped by someone. I want to know who it was.”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo said calmly, “have you lost your mind?”

“Think about it. We’re not so helpless, between the two of us. You’re obviously an experienced fighter, regardless of where you’re really from, and if we ask the right people they’ll run their mouths the second they hear that I’m of status. And it’s not like either of us have anything better to be doing other than sitting around and twiddling our thumbs back at the manor. You were just going to laze about for three weeks anyway, weren’t you?”

“Hold on—” Kyungsoo began uncertainly, but Jongin’s grip only grew stronger as he leaned in close, eyes alight with determination.

“I’ll pay you more crowns if that’s your concern. Please, I can’t sit idle with so many of my kin fallen because of this. I need to know that they can rest in peace, avenged for their troubles. I’ve got no other allies, no one else I can count on for this.”

“You overestimate us. What can two men do in the face of this? It’s already become bigger than we know.”

“Two men can certainly do more than one can,” Jongin said resolutely. “If my cousin could find the people he needed to get the job done by himself, surely we can accomplish the same.”

He’s not giving up, Kyungsoo realized. The idiot certainly made a sight, all bloody and banged up and still ready to go hunting for the one responsible. Christ, there’s no telling if this goose chase is going to be worth any amount of gold.

Kyungsoo pulled a hand over his face. “If I see one sign that this is going bottoms-up—”

“I won’t hold you to the contract. You’ll get the original reward plus the thirty extra crowns you wanted. And I won’t tell anyone about what happened just now, back in that village. I swear to it.”

“Where would we even start?”

“My brother was studying at the Lavenham University in Londerrtain, before all this happened. There might be some clue in his belongings, a person who spoke to him last. Maybe we can start there.”

His hand seemed impossibly warm around Kyungsoo’s wrist, and the elder wondered if the lord was already running a fever. “We’ll see about that,” Kyungsoo said reluctantly, sliding out of his grip. “So, Londerrtain.”

Jongin nodded. “Londerrtain.”


	2. Chapter 2

It took them a few more hours to find another village that was a safe distance from the last one. Neither had thought to bring a lantern or oil, so they had come across the village with great luck. They placed the corpse in the underbrush about a mile away and made haste to book a room in the local inn. 

As it usually is the night before Sunday, the place is bustling. Men in twos and threes took up the majority of the tables, yelling and having indistinct conversations over their mugs of beer. A couple of drunks tottered around along the walls, giving a docile hiccup. There was a small band playing in one corner, comprised of a pan flute, a dulcimer, and a lute, who played to their heart’s content, without any care for the fact that their audience was too inebriated to appreciate their musical prowess. 

Kyungsoo refrained from removing the hood of his cloak, instead tugging it closer as if he’d felt a chill to his ears. He tilted his chin down and led Jongin by the elbow up to the bar. 

“Could I get my friend patched up?” he said quietly. 

“ ‘Course. Got a nasty lookin’ cut there, master. What’d you do?” the barkeep asked, wiping her hands on her apron. She was on the younger side, maybe thirty or so, her thick dark hair plaited over one shoulder. 

“Misstepped and fell off my horse,” Jongin said, smiling sheepishly. “Spooked her on the way down. Her hoof clipped me.”

“Eh, nothin’ to be ashamed of, we get buffoons like you five times a day. Don’t you worry, I’ll fix you up, young master. What do you boys say to some pancakes, eh? Just bought the flour this afternoon, could whip ‘em up nice and hot for ye.”

“I’m alright. Think she kicked me harder than I thought. Still feeling a little dizzy.” 

Kyungsoo realized then that Jongin was probably telling the truth. Despite having thrown up everything in his stomach he hadn’t complained of hunger the entire journey over, either. Kyungsoo thought about this lack of appetite, and he suddenly and inexplicably felt guilty. 

“I’ll take you up on that,” Kyungsoo said, producing a few crowns from his pockets and sliding them across the bar. “We’ll take it to our room, though. Is that okay?”

“Don’t see the harm in it, ‘less you make a mess of it. Got enough mice as it is.”

“No, we’ll be careful.”

“Then do as you like. Wouldn’t want to eat in this crowd o’ pigs either. I’ll send yer friend o’er with them when they’re ready.”

“A drink for my friend too, if you’ve got one,” Jongin cut in, before Kyungsoo could slip away.

The woman nodded and took up a wooden tankard. “You boys hear the big news goin’ around?” she said, as she filled it up.

Jongin stiffened slightly. Kyungsoo kept still, glanced up as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “What’s that?” he asked politely.

“They found that knight that deserted the Round Table, east of Kaerdin,” the woman said. “Bunch of them Church guards rallied up a party and dragged the poor sod back to the capital.”

Kyungsoo still didn’t move, but beside him Jongin relaxed, almost too visibly relieved. “No, I didn’t hear of it,” he said, while Kyungsoo said nothing. “Hadn’t even realized there was a knight missing.”

“Then I’d reckon you don’t get out much. There’s been declarations everywhere. Been charged with high treason, reward floatin’ around for anyone who spots ‘im and reports ‘im alive. Guessing those villagers made good of an opportunity when they saw one. I heard they saw him trying to pawn off his armour to a local merchant. Told the Church straightaway, and they flew down like devils to catch the bugger.”

“Must’ve been a horrid affair.”

“Rightly was. No word on his sentence yet, but I’ll bet he won’t be hanged without the whole capital coming out to watch.”

“Excuse me,” Kyungsoo said, slipping away from the bar.

He retreated to their room, nearly slamming the door shut behind him. His shoulder drooped with his heavy sigh, but it was without relief. A heavy strain laid between his shoulder blades, coiled tight. He slowly removed his armour piece by piece and set them on the table, each movement pulling a painful grimace from his features. His heart felt like it was beating at the wrong pace, a sudden exhaustion coming over him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a moment to himself until he had it.

The door opened, without any knocking to warn him, and Kyungsoo instinctively turned his head away sharply, facing the wall.

“It’s just me,” a familiar voice said. Jongin walked in with a full plate in one hand and the tankard in the other, his head now wrapped in bandages and the rest of him adequately cleaned of blood. He used his elbow to shut the door. “Everything okay?”

“It is now,” Kyungsoo said, taking the beer and drinking deeply. It was cold and frothy, and he found himself draining it in one go. He let the tankard fall onto the table with a thump, let Jongin hand him his food next. “I should be asking you that.”

“What do you mean?” Jongin asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Your injury.”

“Oh, it’s fine now. Puts me at ease to know it’s not open for an infection to settle in.”

“Do you still feel sick?”

“A little,” Jongin admitted. “But I don’t feel hungry anyways.”

The pancakes were thin, served with melted butter for flavour. Kyungsoo rolled one up and dipped it before biting it in half. He ate like this in silence for a while. 

“You look troubled,” Jongin said, and Kyungsoo startled. He hadn’t noticed Jongin watching him.

Kyungsoo sighed. “I am. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t have a good feeling about this. What your cousin was up to.”

“Honestly? You’re not alone.” Jongin bit his lip. “I don’t know what I’m going to find. And I realize it’s not right of me to ask you to blindly follow me into this. It’s just that I’ve never strayed beyond the village fields. If it weren’t for you I’d probably be dead right now.”

Kyungsoo winced slightly. “I should apologize, actually,” he said, looking down at his food. “I realized I was callous with you earlier.”

“I…I think I deserved it. I was desperate, and I wasn’t honest with you. Help is hard to come by, especially for a task like this. I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“That’s not really what I meant.” Kyungsoo set his plate aside. “I mean when we were...when we found the body.”

“Oh.” 

Kyungsoo looked at Jongin’s lowered head, face shielded by his hair as he folded his hands together quietly. The same strange guilt from before crept up in again. He felt, oddly, as if he’d failed the lord somehow. 

“What happened was normal,” Kyungsoo said. “Seeing a dead body for the first time isn’t easy. I’ve seen plenty of grown men who’ll grow faint at the sight of one no matter how much they claimed to have done this or that.”

“Does it get easier?”

The unexpected question threw Kyungsoo off. Jongin’s face remained serious, waiting. 

“It depends how you look at it,” Kyungsoo answered slowly. “If you ask me, it never gets easier. The difference is that it stops being about the horror of it, seeing someone get killed. You start seeing different things. Injustice, jealousy, revenge, passion. You see the intention instead of the endgame. But no matter how you look at it, at the end of the day someone’s dead before their time, at the hands of someone else. And that’s not as easy to swallow.”

Kyungsoo tore a pancake in half and held it out. “Here. You need to eat something.”

“No, that’s alright, I’ll—”

“Please,” Kyungsoo said, stiffly.

Jongin’s eyes flitted between Kyungsoo’s face and the morsel. He took it hesitantly and nibbled on the edge of it. “Have you ever killed anyone?” he said, pointedly. A leading question.

If they hadn’t been sitting so close, the way that Kyungsoo flinched almost imperceptibly would have been lost in the warm, muffled bustle of the laughing crowd outside. Then the moment was gone, and Kyungsoo turned away, his face hard and blank. “I told you. Once we’re back safe and sound in your manor, I’ll explain everything you need to know about me.”

“What? But we can’t expect us to be there for at least another month, now.”

“That’s not my concern. I’m sticking to my word.” He stood up and took the spare furs out of the chest at the foot of the bed before throwing them onto the rug. The lines around the corners of his eyes were tight. “Go to sleep. We leave with sunrise.”

 

“Kyungsoo!”

Kyungsoo jolted awake. Jongin’s frantic face hovered over his.

“There’s two guards from the Order here. They’re asking after us.”

Kyungsoo sat up at once. “Pack your things.”

They dressed in a rush, as quietly as they could manage. Their room had no windows; they would have to sneak past, to the front entrance. Kyungsoo lifted his head and gave a silent prayer in thanks, grateful that his armour wasn’t the heavy plate kind that would have clanged with his every movement. 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin said, as they opened their door a crack to peek through it. His voice wavered. “I’m frightened.”

It was his first ever admission of the fact. “Just stay behind me,” Kyungsoo said. He briefly slid his hand over Jongin’s arm to reassure him, heard him take a deep breath to steady himself.

“I told you, the place was swingin’ last night,” the barkeep said, irritated. This clearly wasn’t the first time she was explaining this. “We get all kind of travellers. I don’t know about any ‘suspicious figures’ coming through here.”

“I implore your forgiveness, fair woman, but this is a state matter. Any recollection would be of most help,” the taller of the two guards said. He was also older, with weathered tan skin and snow-white stubble. The other barely looked old enough to have stopped sucking his thumb. They both wore silver plated armour and deep green cloaks, decorated with the emblem of the White Oaks. 

“Are you certain you didn’t see two strangers travelling together? They would have been two men, possibly injured.”

Kyungsoo took the lead and slipped out of the room, keeping close to the wall. Jongin followed, thankfully without blundering. 

In that moment the barkeep glanced up and looked Kyungsoo dead in the eye. Kyungsoo froze, alarm shooting through his veins, cold and viscous. He saw something come over the woman’s eyes, a quick dawning realization. For a moment, the entire inn seemed to dissolve, their locked gazes like a tunnel blocking out all other surroundings.

The woman faced the knight again. “You deaf? What you want me to do if I don’t remember nothin’?” she snapped, her tone less controlled than before. 

It barely took Kyungsoo a second to understand what she’d just done. Instinct told him to keep going, to keep creeping along the wall, but his legs remained stiff and unmoving where they were. He hesitated. 

“You dare raise your voice to us?” the younger knight cried out then, apparently better at threatening people than carrying out a normal conversation. “You address the agents of the Church, who serve the honourable Prince of Light. Have a care who you speak to like that!”

“I don’t give a fuck who you serve. And you quit that damn shrieking, you’ll wake my customers, you shitty brat.”

The younger knight grew red in the face. Before his companion could do anything, the boy snatched a handful of the woman’s dark hair and violently smashed her face into the countertop. 

In that brief second, something inside of Kyungsoo snapped. He dimly remembered drawing his sword; Jongin’s yell, muffled by something; the shouts of the knights, the clamour and scuffle of metal striking metal; and then a long, high-pitched hysterical scream. He blinked, and on the floor were the two knights, the older one desperately trying to remove his shoulder pad, where Kyungsoo’s blade had slipped between the cracks and plunged deeply just an inch of his armpit, bright red blood staining the polished metal. The other one lay still on the floor, blood pooling beneath his neck. 

“Don’t touch me!” the barkeep screamed, cowering away from Jongin. Her nose was broken, the blood already messily smeared over her mouth and chin. “Get out! Both of you get out!”

Kyungsoo drew his face deeper into the hood of his cloak, grabbed Jongin by the arm. “Come on,” he said roughly. He did not look the woman in the eye. 

Outside Jongin suddenly dug his heels into the ground. “Wait! We need to get Joonmyun’s body!”

 _Fuck._ “We don’t have the time,” Kyungsoo said, forcibly dragging Jongin against his will. “We need to get out of here.”

“What?” Jongin tugged back, face filled with hysteria. “No! We can’t leave him there! I have to go back!”

“You can’t,” Kyungsoo snarled, turning on Jongin and gripping his arm so tight that Jongin yelped, shrinking in fear. “Shut up and listen. I just killed a guard of the Order. They’ll have reinforcements swarming by noon, and if we spend one more moment standing here like idiots it’ll give them enough time to catch up to us on the road. We can’t bury your cousin if we’re both dead. Now get on the goddamn horse.”

“What’s going on?” another voice said from inside the inn, woken by all the noise; his words floated clear as day through the open windows. 

“Please,” Jongin gasped, his eyes already drowning. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack. 

Kyungsoo gritted his teeth, manhandled Jongin towards his horse. The lord was barely resisting now, but he was hyperventilating as he moved, his feet slipping off of the stirrups twice before he was able to swing himself up onto the mare, still crying, still begging please, please. Kyungsoo ran and fairly leaped onto Persimmon. 

“Hey!” a voice yelled, the door of the inn bursting open.

“Let’s go!” Kyungsoo ordered, snapping his reins, and the man’s next shout was lost in the sound of the horses spurred into gallop and flashing down the road, away from the scene of the crime. 

 

They rode at breakneck speed for roughly ten minutes, then slowed to a light canter, seeing the sheen of sweat that now glistened on Persimmon’s and Moonshine’s necks. Despite not having done any of the running himself Kyungsoo felt that his heart rate had been escalated all the same, could feel it in his throat as they slowly assured themselves that they were a safe distance away. 

Without warning, Jongin veered his horse off the road, causing Kyungsoo to pull on his reins too quickly and nearly vault himself into Persimmon’s neck. “Jongin?”

Jongin stopped his horse and clumsily scrambled off the side of it. Between the wind whistling in his ears and the thundering of hooves underfoot, Kyungsoo had heard a sob or two as they’d been escaping, but now his guilt-stricken grief rang clearly through the cool morning air. He gasped and choked, stumbling a few feet away from his horse before he suddenly stopped, bending his head and burying his face in his hands. 

Kyungsoo quickly steered Persimmon over and leapt off, not thinking about tying the horses down as he approached the young lord beneath the shade of an oak tree.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo said gently, placing a hand on the lord’s shoulder. Jongin didn’t move, his sobs slowly turning into exhausted hiccups. Kyungsoo retrieved his canteen from his saddle bags and forcibly tugged Jongin’s hands away from his face.

“Drink,” he said. 

Jongin’s hands shook as he drank, a few tiny sips before he stood there silently, knuckles white as he clutched the canteen like a lifeline. His eyes were rimmed a deep red, his face streaked in drying tears. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo said quietly, and he meant it. “There was nothing we could do.”

The lord wiped at his swollen eyes, sniffling. “I know,” he said. His voice was hoarse. 

“I know how much this meant to you. And I know what you’re thinking. But it’s too risky to go back and get the body. They’ll have guards stationed at every—”

“I know.”

If Kyungsoo thought he was surprised by Jongin’s answer, the lord quickly demolished the thought by looking up and giving Kyungsoo a pained smile. 

“Even I can see that the odds are against us. We’re as good as wanted men now, aren’t we?” Jongin said.

Kyungsoo hesitated. “Yes.”

Jongin nodded, eyes on the ground. “Getting Joonmyun’s body was important to me. I fear I may never truly be free of this guilt now, not knowing if my cousin’s soul rests peacefully, not being able to give him a proper burial. Even burning him would set my conscious to rest. Do you think they’ll find it?”

“It’s possible. They’ll scout the area for us. Giving him complete camouflage was not the first thing on my mind.”

“What do you suppose they’ll do with it?”

“If they’ve got any brains in those rattling helmets, they’ll burn it. These woods are not friendly. The decaying flesh will likely attract worse things than fowl.”

“And…if they don’t find it?” 

“He’ll decompose,” Kyungsoo said, but his voice was not rough. “His ashes will sink into the earth for the worms to fertilize and the flowers to grow, and his bones will lie there, out of sight but not forgotten. You did what you could. You looked after your kin. The gods won’t dismiss that so easily. Neither will Joonmyun.”

Jongin’s eyes grew wet again, but he dipped his head low, not making any sound. His body shifted forward a tiny bit, as if teetering on the edge of an irreversible decision until his forehead was gently resting on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. The elder was too taken back to do anything as it happened, but he relented and lifted his hand to rub it thrice along Jongin’s spine.

“You did the right thing,” Kyungsoo said. His heart pounded with the words. He shut his eyes tightly. “You did.”

They stood like this for a few moments longer. When Jongin raised his head again his expression was heavy with lines of exhaustion. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice defeated, filled with resignation. 

 

The rest of the journey to Londerrtain is uneventful. They opt to camp near the roads instead of taking any more chances within the nearby villages. They pass through settlements without speaking to anyone. Occasionally they were given the odd look; it was clear even to an old man with fading sight that Jongin wasn’t your run-of-the-mill peasant, and for a lord to be unaccompanied except for a single brand-less swordsman was a strange sight indeed. But nothing came of it. They pushed their pace, and as a result news did not travel as fast as they did. 

“Do you think,” Jongin asked, as they left the winding forest roads and finally broached the wide dirt paths separating crop fields of wheat and grapes, “they’ll be looking for us there?”

“Undoubtedly,” Kyungsoo said. Jongin had remained largely silent as they’d rode, mildly concerning considering how many questions the lord could conjure at the beginning of their trip. He side-glanced at Jongin’s face. He looked travel-worn, brow glistening with sweat beneath the noon sun, his eyes distracted as they looked unseeingly at the road ahead of them. 

Kyungsoo stared at the road ahead, too. “Although we might fare better than we think. Londerrtain’s a large city, but the Church of the White Oaks have no Order outpost there, just the cathedral. They’re still largely focused on their headquarters in the capital. And the city gets its fair share of odd types, that’s for certain. So long as we don’t make a scene we can get in and out unnoticed. It’s just a matter of being careful.”

Jongin nodded, letting this sink in. At that moment they reached the crest of a hill they’d been climbing, and Kyungsoo saw what was ahead of them. “Jongin,” he said, stopping their horses, “look up.”

Jongin did, and his eyes opened, really opened, his lips parting with speechlessness. There in the valley that dipped between the rolling golden hills and the piercing blue lake at the foot of the Van Welvest mountains, the city of Londerrtain stood: a grand scape of tall white stone and sloping tiled roofs, tipped with such a becoming shade of red that the city appeared to have leapt straight from the pages of a children’s storybook. The city stretched and hugged a section of the lake, the white dots of sails from merchant ships just barely visible on the harbour waters. After weeks of nothing but mud roads and rotting wooden shacks with thatched roofs barely overcoming his horse’s full height, the cluster and grandeur of the city below was truly a sight for sore eyes. 

“By the Gods,” Jongin breathed. “Look at that architecture! I’ve never seen such stonework before, such tall buildings. In my mind’s eye I never knew how to picture a city, I’d get these ridiculous notions of gold-paved roads and glistening marble walls, but this…it’s fantastic. I could never have conjured such an image. Even the city walls are—“ He looked utterly spellbound, eyes shining. “How could I have only seen this for the first time in my life?”

Kyungsoo looked over the city, relieved to see that civilization was so near—admittedly he always had been a city person—but the lord’s overwhelming admiration was as amusing as it was alleviating. It was the first real smile he’d seen on Jongin’s face since they’d left the manor. He said nothing, not wanting to ruin the moment for him.

“It’s incredible,” Jongin said again, voice quiet with awe. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”

A tiny swell of something quashed whatever good mood had begun to descend on Kyungsoo. He sobered up, straightening his shoulders. “I have,” he said. “I’ve been to this city before.”

Jongin looked over, his captivation momentarily muted by the sound of Kyungsoo’s voice. It registered gradually on his face that something was amidst. “When?”

Kyungsoo didn’t reply. He gently spurred Persimmon forward again. “Come on.”

 

The city streets, as was befitting of a city, were narrow, crowded, loud, and smelly. All of the buildings and shops were fashioned in such a manner that every three- and four-story were squished together tight like sausages in a tin, making use of every last bit of space they could find; as a result tenants in the floors above could yell to their neighbours in the building across from them, share the laundry lines that zig-zagged the skies and created a colourful patchwork of bedsheets and underpants. Shops, counters, merchants’ stalls filled every nook and cranny, men and women shouting out their wares—flame-charred pigs’ feet, leather shoes of every kind and fit, jars filled with jams and preserves to last two whole winters, doves that were guaranteed to cross the far corners of the country to deliver letters to far-away relatives—the cries and calls were endless. The streets were of old cobblestone masonry, stained with streaks of moss and mud between the cracks where the roads dipped and rainwater puddles collected. People barely avoided getting their toes stepped on by the occasional guard doing rounds on horseback, looking utterly bored. At night, all kinds of music and festivities took place in the main square, regardless if there was any occasion to call for it. Ale flowed, bards sang, and the townspeople thrived. No one who lived in this city could ever grow bored.

It was crowded enough that they decided to step down from their mares and lead them alongside by the bridle, in search of a respectable inn. With every step Jongin took his eyes remained as wide as a child’s, his mouth hanging open, barely avoiding tripping over himself for lack of attention to where he was walking. At this point he was equal parts charmed and bewildered by the things around him. It was clear he’d never been called for attention by so many people at once. For the first five minutes his head could barely keep up with all the offers shouted at him from the stalls, trying to indulge equal interest in each one—Kyungsoo had to pull him along more than once with a firm “No, not interested” when the young lord had nearly let himself be talked into buying a clay ocarina or an elixir Kyungsoo was certain he would never need. A courtesan reached out for his upper arm, eyelashes fluttering and one tit hanging out as she purred a “Well, hello, handsome,” and the poor boy’s eyes had nearly fallen out of his head, causing Kyungsoo to double over in the middle of the street in a desperate attempt to contain his laughter. A dock hand wobbled his way into their path to loudly proclaim that he knew a man who could hold his drink when he saw one and that anyone to turn down an offer was a yellow-bellied jellyfish, and Jongin blathered and stuttered until Kyungsoo finally cut in and merely turned the man by his shoulders till he was facing a shop selling sausages and lamb stomachs instead, and that had been the end of that.

They finally found an inn by the city gates closest to the waterside, a tall-standing and impressive establishment by the name of The Rosebud. It was only ten in the morning, so there were a small few patrons seated at the tables, the head of the cabaret still instructing his delivery men on where to set down the morning’s shipment of Beresgor lager and Egermeir dry. They paid for their room and their spots on the hitching post, and without delay set out again in search of the university. 

“So, supposing everything of Joonmyun’s is exactly as he left it,” Kyungsoo said, with Jongin hovering close to his shoulder now as they walked, “what is it you think you’re going to find?”

 

“Gods, I don’t know.” He was pinching the sleeve at Kyungsoo’s elbow, as if afraid of being separated and lost in the crowd. Kyungsoo tried not to let this distract him.

 

“I’ve been thinking. Half of the rumours that I’ve heard about them, I mean, they can’t all be true. And if they are, that means whoever was helping him…their influence is great, far-reaching. For some far-away uncle of ours to suddenly drop dead, or for a wealthy prince to go missing? It’s unnerving just to think of it. And my cousin may have been lovesick, but I find it hard to believe he agreed to any of it. So maybe he didn’t know what he was getting into?” Jongin said.

 

“So our goal is to credit or discredit what we’ve heard,” Kyungsoo said. “And in the event that these rumours hold truth to them, then we find out just how that came to be the case.”

 

“Starting from what happened with my cousin’s death,” Jongin murmured.

 

That stopped Kyungsoo dead in his tracks. “Wait. Do you mean to say you don’t know how he was caught? How the villagers found about him?”

 

“I would have asked the villagers,” Jongin said, voice lowering with guilt, “had they not been so quick to attack. In all honesty there was a fair amount of time when my cousin was missing, news of his death suddenly turning up at the manor. And this had been after his fiancee had passed. Five days, he was gone. I…I was hoping in coming here that he may have passed through during those five days.”

 

“That’s not much of a lead we’re riding on here. More of a hunch than anything.”

 

“I know. Please, I know it’s not what we agreed…”

 

“I never said I was leaving,” Kyungsoo said. “So you can stop asking me, because if you keep doing it, I might actually come to my senses and realize the predicament I’ve gotten myself into. And stop ogling at the strumpets, I know you haven’t seen a breast since your wet nurse stopped feeding you but they’ll think you’re interested otherwise.”

Jongin didn’t retort. Kyungsoo figured he’d sunken into a flustered silence. Then the lord spoke, asking the one thing he wasn’t prepared for.

“Are you alright?” Jongin said, his voice quieting, so that passerbys wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t...I forgot to ask, but, back there, in the inn…”

Kyungsoo looked at the ground. “Back there?”

“You...you’d killed that man.”

There was a heavy, strained silence. “I did,” Kyungsoo said. “And he was not my first. So there’s the answer you wanted.”

The grip on Kyungsoo’s sleeve tightened. “I’m sorry. If you want to--”

“No,” Kyungsoo cut off. “I don’t. Forgive me. It’s a personal matter.”

“Alright,” Jongin said softly. Just that. “Alright.” Kyungsoo was taken aback. He’d expected badgering, demands of an explanation. He had, after all, essentially admitted to being a murderer. Yet the lord hadn’t pushed him, chose to let him keep his secrets despite better knowledge. It left Kyungsoo voiceless and distracted, only just able to continue leading them through the crowds.

 

Eventually they found the university gates, the campus enclosed in another, smaller set of stone walls to help keep students and scholars alike safe from thugs and pickpockets looking to pawn off an unusual-looking object as a “rare artifact”. The gates into the academy itself were large, heavy and solid wood, but not without two guards stationed at the entrance, monitoring the traffic coming in and out. Beyond that Kyungsoo could make out neatly paved roads lined with lavender stalks and a rather tidy-looking neighbourhood of clinics and dormitories, the buildings graciously spread apart in comparison to the density of the markets just outside.

 

“This is a school?” Jongin said, disbelief plain in his voice. “There’s so many buildings.”

 

“I’m guessing you didn’t have a need for any, if you were home-schooled.”

 

“I had tutors, yes, but that’s besides the point. How many people could possibly be enrolled to be able to use all of the rooms?”

 

“You’d be surprised. People often come from all over to study here. Not often you see an academy of this scale and reputation. In fact, I’m surprised your parents never considered it.”

 

“My mother was worried about me falling into the wrong crowd. Always thought that was a rather silly notion…”

 

“Jongin?”

 

Kyungsoo turned towards where the voice came from. Jongin’s mouth fell open as soon as he laid eyes on the speaker. “Wendy?”

 

The girl approaching was young, even younger than Jongin, or maybe the same age. It was hard to tell; but the radiant, energetic beauty that she emitted was as unique as it was lovely. Her youth was upon her face, as fresh as a morning dew drop on the petals of a lily, her light brown hair cascading down her shoulders in gentle waves. Her pale skin had an extraordinary look of softness to it, her eyes large and hazel-brown in colour.

 

“Goodness, I never thought I’d see you anytime soon,” Wendy said, just as surprised to see Jongin as he was her. She placed a hand on his shoulder to stretch on tip-toe and plant a friendly kiss on his cheek. “Especially here, for that matter. And who’s this?”

 

“This is Kyungsoo. He, uh…he’s accompanied me, to look after my better welfare,” Jongin said. “Kyungsoo, Wendy. She’s a close friend of Joonmyun’s.”

 

Kyungsoo stepped forward and extended his hand politely. “My lady.”

 

Wendy laughed. “Gods, I’m no lady,” she said, shaking his hand. Her palm was warm and smooth, and she smelled of lavender. “Just Wendy is fine. So what brings you to Londerrtain?”

 

“Oh—uh—“ Jongin floundered, obviously stuck, and Kyungsoo realized that news of Joonmyun’s death might not have extended outside of the immediate family. “We came to retrieve some of Joonmyun’s things for him. He’s…away.”

 

Wendy fell silent. For a moment she looked deep in thought. “There’s no need to pretend with me. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

 

The words struck Jongin dumb, but Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes, his fingers subtly inching towards his hilt. “How did you know?”

 

“Don’t—calm down, alright? I’m obviously not armed, you can stop reaching for your sword. The last thing you want to make in front of the guards is a scene. Then they’ll never let you step through the doors.”

 

Kyungsoo obediently drew his hand away. Wendy’s shoulders relaxed a little, but her expression remained unchanged. 

 

“I thought Joonmyun might have been getting himself into trouble. I mean no offense, but your cousin was never picky about who he shared the details of his personal life with.”

 

“You weren’t just anybody, though,” Jongin said, rather softly.

 

Wendy sighed. “Maybe. But that was years ago already. In any case, he continued to write to me when he took his leave for his engagement. Typical lovestruck dribble at first, but it took a turn not too long ago, saying his girl was suddenly engaged to some Middle Eastern prince instead. I could tell he was devastated, and he wasn’t going to sit still about it either. He said to me, ‘I can’t let this go on. I have to get her back.’ And then that was the last I heard from him. Considering the circumstances of things before this little declaration I didn’t think anything good could possibly come of his efforts. But I was hoping I’d be wrong.”

 

“It’s just as you say, unfortunately,” Jongin said grimly. “It’s clear you already know much of the situation, so I’m going to be straightforward with you. The details of my cousin’s death are shrouded in mystery. We came to see if there would be any clues in his belongings regarding what really happened.”

 

“So you want to get into the academy,” Wendy said, nodding with understanding. “Well, that’s nice and all, but I doubt you’ll get far with your friend dressed and armed the way he is.”

 

Kyungsoo blinked, realizing she was talking about him. Wendy noticed his confusion. “You didn’t really plan to walk in with that massive sword of yours, did you? Anyone can see you’re not from around, and you obviously haven’t taken up some honest occupation like shoe shining.”

 

“So I have to leave my sword behind?” Kyungsoo said, a little sullen now. 

 

“Probably best. And you should find yourself a nice inoffensive tunic or something while you’re at it. There’s no need for chainmail inside the academy walls. You’ll make yourself suspicious.” Wendy paused. “If you want to get inside, I can help you get past the guards at the front door. But you have to promise not to open your mouths. They’re touchy with strangers.”

 

“Would you really?” Jongin took a step forward animatedly. “Wendy, that’s—”

 

“Yes, I’ll do it, keep your voices down. Meet me here again at six, after your friend’s found himself a change of clothes. I need to get some shopping done.”

 

“You wouldn’t like us to accompany you?”

 

Wendy smiled with amusement. The expression was ill-fitting on her childlike face, but the effort itself made it charming all the same. “I know I don’t look like much, but I can fend off the rougher types just fine on my own. I don’t know if you were travelling lightly, but if you haven’t something to loan him there’s a tailor just round this next bend here. I’ll keep an eye out for you later tonight.”

 

“Thank you, Wendy. I can’t tell you how much this means to us.”

 

Wendy nodded. She turned to look at Kyungsoo. The amused smile was still there. “See you later,” she said.

 

Kyungsoo inclined his head courteously, not without an intrigued smile of his own tugging on the corner of his lips. She turned and quickly slipped into the current of people moving around them, her hair shining against her navy blue robes before disappearing. 

 

“What was that about?” Jongin said, looking at the spot where she’d left. He turned to Kyungsoo when the latter didn’t answer. “Did you hear me?”

 

“I did,” Kyungsoo said, belatedly. “Come on. I want to find a good spot to tuck my sword away. Last thing we need is the Order barging into the inn while we’re gone and taking our only chance of survival.”

 

To narrow down the chances of people recognizing them as the serial attackers that had struck the countryside, Jongin had suggested splitting up, even if briefly. It hadn’t sat well with Kyungsoo, but Jongin was growing restless, hadn’t had enough of touring the city. The lord adamantly promised not to stray from the main road, pleading with him like a child would to his mother. Which Kyungsoo wasn’t, so against his better judgement he reluctantly let him go.

 

Kyungsoo hated getting dressed up. He always had. Not to say that he hadn’t gotten used to it, but that didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable. Getting measured, trying to pick something presentable from a selection of equally ugly doublets, it was all one very nauseating trip of deja vu for him. Every time he put one of these things on he thought he’d be very lucky if he ate a decent supper later and didn’t pop a stitch in the process. 

 

In the end, he picked out the most inconspicuous one he could find: a sleeveless piece of hunter green, with plain gold embroidery, something he could wear over the white shirt he already had without restricting his arm movement. He quickly stopped the tailor at matching breeches. 

 

The tailor had just finished doing up the final ties when the door chimed with someone’s entrance. Jongin walked in, hugging a large bound parcel wrapped in paper to his chest. 

 

“I got us both new sleeping rolls,” Jongin said, and then stopped at the sight of Kyungsoo. The swordsman was instantly overcome with embarrassment. He felt as good as naked wearing anything besides his armour.

 

“Be honest. I have no idea if this actually looks any good or not,” Kyungsoo said, tugging mercilessly on the hem with extreme discomfort. “I never cared to develop an eye fashion. I’m counting on you to tell me if I look like a pompous dick.”

 

Jongin, at first, said nothing. His eyes looked over Kyungsoo several times, the expression behind them indiscernible. His throat worked over his Adam’s apple, swallowing.

 

“You look good,” he said finally. 

 

The way he said it, it gave Kyungsoo pause, a strange, foreign sensation rising from deep in his chest. He didn’t have much time to think it over, though, because the tailor came flying in with waving arms, yelling about stretching the fabric. Kyungsoo dropped his hands to his sides at once, the pinch of the fabric binding his chest bringing his irritation back.

 

“We’ll take it,” Kyungsoo said sulkily. “I can’t stand here for another second trying on these ghastly things. No, for God’s sake, don’t take it off me, I need to leave like this.” He turned to Jongin. “You ready?”

 

Jongin took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said, in a strange voice that wasn’t his own. “Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Remind me again,” Kyungsoo said, drawing his cloak closer around himself, “how you know this Wendy girl?”

“She and Joonmyun were sweethearts for a time, a couple of years ago. She came round once for Christmas dinner.” Jongin glanced sideways at Kyungsoo, not for the first time. The weather was temperate but Kyungsoo had his hood up, as was his habit, and it drew a bit of attention to himself. Kyungsoo pointedly did not acknowledge his glances. 

“I see. Is it safe to ask if her time with Joonmyun overlapped with the entrance of a certain other lady?”

“It didn’t, thankfully. I doubt she would have received us so warmly otherwise.”

The sun was just beginning to set, casting sharp golden rays onset with orange and shadows twice Kyungsoo’s height. The merchants and shopkeepers had already packed up for the day. Most of the crowds had retreated to their homes or the closest tavern, which rang with rambunctious shouting and off-key singing as they passed their open windows. It was not an optimal time for Kyungsoo to be seen out and about. He felt exposed without the cover of people swarming him from all sides. He walked with impatient and hurried steps, forcing Jongin to scamper alongside in order to match his pace, although he uttered no complaints.

Wendy stood about thirty feet from the university gates, holding a small parcel by its twine bindings and pretending to take interest in a flower cart. She seemed to spot them approaching, but did not acknowledge them right away. Instead she dug into her pocket and dropped two silver pieces into the flower girl’s fingerless gloved-hand. The child gave her a toothy smile and presented her with four carnations, which Wendy took graciously. She even offered her a little bow before walking away. 

As they drew close, Wendy held out the bouquet. “For you, most gracious lord,” she said, completely straight-faced, “whose beauty even in memory shines more true and delicate than the most honest blooms.”

Jongin snorted. “Not bad for a classics student. Did you use that line with Joonmyun, too?” he said, taking the flowers. They were white with pink-stained tips, and slightly fragrant. 

“Joonmyun never had a good stomach for poetry. My magnificent prose would have been wasted on him.” Wendy turned to look at Kyungsoo, and her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Well, well, you certainly clean up very becomingly.” 

Kyungsoo did not miss the intent behind the earnest compliment. He smiled. “Good. This monstrosity should have some use before I burn it later tonight.”

“Let’s go in quickly,” Jongin grumbled, suddenly with a sour look on his face. Kyungsoo wasn’t sure what it was for, but he decided not to press the issue. 

The guards reflexively stepped up from their posts at their approach, but when they saw who was in the lead, their faces softened with endearment. “Evening, Wendy. Certainly are out later than’s probably safe, y’know.”

“Oh, you know I’m more careful than that. These are my friends, visiting from the northern coast. I was hoping I could take them around for a tour of the grounds.”

“‘Course, miss, although if it’s no offense to ye it’d be a load off our shoulders if your companion would draw his hood back for us.”

Kyungsoo took pause, his heartbeat picking up pace minutely. He obediently lowered his hood and straightened his back, hands folded behind himself with his most demure smile. “Gentlemen,” he said.

For the briefest of moments the guards examined his face, but nothing came of it. They merely nodded once before turning back to Wendy. “Thank ye, miss. Just have ‘em sign in the visitor’s book before they go.”

Kyungsoo relaxed, shoulders slackening. Jongin signed in first, scribbling his signature with practiced ease; as far as he was concerned, no one looking for him had placed his face with the name of his household yet, so he had no need of an alias. Kyungsoo hesitated, a pause carefully hidden in the act of taking the quill from Jongin’s hand, before he signed Do Seungsoo beneath the lord’s name. 

“Alright, yer all set. No stowing ‘em away in your rooms fer the night, now.”

“I’m appalled you would think myself capable,” Wendy said, feigning offense, but there was a glimmer of mirth in her eyes. Like that, the three of them stepped through the gates. Without acknowledging one another a collected motion of relief settled among them. 

“They certainly like you,” Kyungsoo murmured, as they walked briskly through the campus grounds.

“Oh, don’t let that fool you. They’ll act like that to any student here with a pair of tits. I’m sure they only started to remember my name a week ago.”

They found Joonmyun’s dormitory quickly, making their way in through the side entrance and lightening their footsteps as they climbed the stairs to his floor. 

“He should be in the same room,” Wendy said. She moved with certainty, retracing the path to Joonmyun’s quarters without much trouble. 

Kyungsoo wasn’t the only one who noticed. “You have a good memory,” Jongin said, haltingly. 

“Please, spare me the veiled accusations. I told you, we still kept close contact after his engagement. But it was clear where his affections lay, and I definitely didn’t have any interest in causing drama. Besides, he had to be reminded to clip his toenails. I prefer a man with a little more attention to personal grooming.”

Jongin coughed with embarrassment and looked away. Kyungsoo stifled a laugh, not very successfully.

“Here.” Wendy turned suddenly and faced one of the doors, reaching out to try the handle. “Well, I’m sorry to say we weren’t close enough for him to give me a spare key.” 

“Give me a moment,” Kyungsoo said, stepping forward.

The others looked at him in surprise. Wendy stepped aside, and Kyungsoo knelt in front of the door, producing a thin blade and pick from one of his pockets. It didn’t take long to work it open; it was clear they’d been installed for the sake of show rather than privacy, the people installing them assured that any suspicious types would have been stopped long before they got to the dormitories anyway. He only broke one pick before he succeeded in hearing the tell-tale click. He removed his instruments, trying the knob again and watching with satisfaction as it swung open.

When he stood up, Jongin and Wendy were staring at him. 

“Picked up that little trick so I could get past chastity belts,” Kyungsoo said. Jongin paled, a look of scandalized horror coming over him, before Kyungsoo grinned. “I’m kidding.”

Wendy pressed her lips together, the corners of her mouth turned upwards. “Well, door’s open, boys. Don’t know what you’re looking for, so I’ll take your lead on this one.”

The two men sobered up, remembering what they had come here for in the first place. Jongin chewed briefly on his lower lip before he was the first to step inside. 

At first glance, there was nothing incriminating about the place. It simply looked like an overworked and untidy student’s bedroom. Tomes, textbooks and papers littered every available surface, even crowding the foot of the bed, next to the bunched-up sheets. Then, at second glance, it was clear that some things were off. The doors of the wardrobe pushed against the far wall were open, mostly empty, save for a few items of clothing strewn at the bottom and on the floor around it. He’d packed his things and left in a hurry. His windows were open, thin drapes dancing lightly in the breeze that wafted in, causing for some of the loose papers to have drifted to the floor; what had survived the wind had their ink become water-logged from past rainfalls. His drawers looked hastily rummaged through, a number of personal belongings left behind. Whatever had driven him to leave, he hadn’t wanted to waste any time. 

Kyungsoo moved to close the windows first, so that he wouldn’t have to chase the papers across the floors. He picked one up at random. “‘Wyverns and Webbed Wings, a dissertation on the lineage of the common _drakontos Viverna_ and its successive traits throughout generations.’ I didn’t realize your cousin was a draconologist.”

“He wasn’t. He took it as an elective.” Jongin rummaged through the papers at the foot of the bed distractedly. “This…this isn’t research related to his thesis.”

Kyungsoo went over to look. He slipped one of the papers from Jongin’s hand carefully. “ _‘The villagers are frightened,’_ ” he read aloud, “ _‘won’t open their doors anymore, can barely leave their homes without their knees buckling, crossing themselves a thousand times over. Such potent fear I have never seen. It took me days before they were convinced I wasn’t some devil in disguise, for the devil, it seemed, had recently arrived on their doorstep’._ What the hell?”

“ _‘I met recently with Valentin,’_ ” Jongin said, reading something else entirely. “ _Anger pulsed through his every muscle. He told me his sister is with child, wooed by an unknown man whom he suspects walks with a demon. He informed me of his intention to condemn them both and challenge this intruder to battle. I thought not much of it, figured his mind had loosened with ale…’_ There’s more of these…witness accounts, but never with the same people, never written by the same hand…”

Kyungsoo looked around, picked up a book from Joonmyun’s nightstand. “These are library books,” he said, inspecting them. “All of them. Folk legends, collections of children’s fables, volumes on mythology from around the world.” He opened up the front cover. “These were checked out about a month ago.”

“Let me see that.” Jongin leaned over Kyungsoo’s shoulder, his chest brushing the swordsman’s arm as he reached over to flip to the index. “Gods. Look at this. ‘A history of deaths and burials among crossroads.’ ‘The ritual of summoning through invocation.’ Even this one, here—necromancy, occultism—”

“He’s got an entire manuscript here on djinns,” Kyungsoo said slowly, taking up another scroll. “And—”

He stopped, before reaching out and snatching a familiar sheepskin tome stained over with blue ink. “I’ve read this,” Kyungsoo said, a cold, unsettling chill sweeping over his body. “I know this story. I—my father, he read me this once as a bedtime story. A man who—who sold his soul to the devil in order to master the art of singing and playing the lute, better than any other bard before him.”

Jongin looked at him. “What does this mean?”

“What does this mean?” Kyungsoo said sharply, tense with agitation. “It means your cousin was after something far less human and far more deadly for his help. This—this is supposed to be a story, dammit. A work of fiction, a legend that some wayward old man tells during festivals to entertain children. But your cousin was researching this, researching all of this. He was looking for a way to make a pact with a demon. As if there were truth to it.”

“Is there?”

The question hung in the air, the silence that followed unnatural, still as stone. Kyungsoo looked into Jongin’s eyes in that moment and saw fear in them, as real and suffocating as the monsters that hide under beds and terrorize the imagination. 

“You believe it,” Jongin said. His voice was not filled with astonishment, or an accusation. Kyungsoo wondered, then, what Jongin could see in his eyes.

“Boys,” Wendy called softly.

They turned. Wendy was standing near the desk, a leather-bound journal in her hands. “You might want to read this,” she said, without looking up. Her face was troubled. 

They both drew close. Wendy began to read without any prompting. 

“ _‘I’ve finally tracked her down, right here, in this very city. After all of the dead ends, chasing even the most obscure incidents to delirium-inducing circles, I had half a mind to wonder if she herself was a myth, or, worse, a person who existed, but was no longer of this world. But I asked around the neighbourhood, placed a letter beneath her door. I don’t know if she’ll show. If accounts are correct she very well may be too afraid to meet with a perfect stranger. But she is the closest chance I have. And if the letter cannot compel her to meet me, then I might have a shot at confronting her in The Limping Lady. Her neighbours tell me it is the only place she frequents. I suppose after all the horrors she’s faced, memory does not serve her kindly unless softened by drink.’_ ”

“A survivor,” Kyungsoo said, realization hitting him. “A living case. Someone who’s been rumoured to force the pact and survive. It must be. Does it—”

“Johanna Christa Sophia Haizmann. A dishonoured noble, from the sounds of it. No ordinary townswoman would need that many names. Says here she’s a painter. There’s an address, but…”

“If Joonmyun already got to her through a letter at her doorstep, I doubt the same trick will work twice. I suggest we try the tavern first, ask the barkeep if she’s been around. They’ve got eyes and ears for everything, if you bribe them enough.”

“Then I can’t stand to wait a moment longer,” Jongin said. “She may have been the last person to speak to Joonmyun before everything happened. The Limping Lady should be open now. I want to find her before she leaves the place. We should get going.”

Kyungsoo put his handful of papers down, not seeing any reason to dally either, but Wendy didn’t move. 

“Kyungsoo, a word, if you have a moment,” she said, looking up. “Jongin, if you please.”

Jongin was already halfway out the door, but he stopped mid-step, eyes darting between Kyungsoo and Wendy. Kyungsoo stared at Wendy for a time, before motioning Jongin outside with a short nod. The lord’s face darkened, and he grabbed the doorknob before slamming it shut behind him.

Kyungsoo turned. “Alright,” he said, voice quiet. “Tell me what it is.”

“Two things, the simpler of them first,” Wendy said. “I’d like to come with you to find this woman.”

Kyungsoo said nothing. Wendy seemed to have not expected this. “No objections?”

“No,” Kyungsoo said slowly, “but that’s something that could have been discussed with Jongin still in the room. There was no need to send him away. So I’m curious as to why you did.”

Wendy smiled wryly. “I can see you’ve managed to fool Jongin with that simple swordsman ruse of yours. I’m not embarrassed to say that I’m a little sharper than he is. You’re much more than you pretend to be. I noticed it first when you greeted the guards. You were used to it, that much is clear. They were probably a mere two in thousands that have crossed your path, and not because you’d done something. You also carry yourself in that expensive doublet very well. Any other peasant would have started to complain by now of the fabric chafing their armpits. But you know better. You’ve done this before.”

For a long time Kyungsoo was silent. “You’re incredibly bright,” he murmured finally. “Far too bright to have been in the company of that fool Joonmyun, that’s for certain.”

“Sounds like you know someone who would be a better fit for me.”

This time it was Kyungsoo who smiled faintly. “I’m honoured. Truly. But I doubt you’ll have anything to gain by bedding a not-so-simple swordsman like me.”

“Should bedding anyone only be for some long-term gain, then?” Wendy shrugged. “Believe me, my childhood days are past me. I’m not looking for a prince or a mysterious stranger to whisk me off to more exciting things. I’ve got finals in a week, I’m too busy for that. After this you can be on your way, getting that poor boy far too in over his head.”

“Don’t. That isn’t fair. I never wanted...” For a moment Kyungsoo’s face slipped, an unrecognizable pain sitting beneath the surface of his carefully empty expression. Then he came to himself, and the look on his face was apologetic. 

“In a different life and under different circumstances, I would. But you’re right about me. I’m not all that I claim to be. And I’ve already managed to betray one person because of it. So I want to be honest with you. You’ve probably already noticed that Joonmyun was not looking into...strictly safe means. And I would fear for your safety should you pursue this any further with us. Let me escort you back to your dormitory. Go home, go to sleep, pretend you never saw us. It would be a greater kindness to me than you can imagine.”

Wendy exhaled slowly through her nose. She didn’t look like she was going to argue anymore, though, so Kyungsoo stood still and didn’t say anything, not wanting to tip the scales and ruin this resignation. 

“Keep in mind,” Wendy said, “that the well-being that you wish of others should not necessarily exempt yourself. Nor should you ever come to think that others wouldn’t wish the same for you. Just a little something to mull over while you’re out chasing some greater evil with Jongin.”

Before Kyungsoo could ask what she meant by that, Wendy placed a hand on his shoulder and, just as she’d done with Jongin, stretched up and gave him a peck on the cheek. Her lips were soft, the scent of lavender washing over him.

“Under different circumstances, but there’s no need to wait for a different life,” Wendy said. “If you should ever stop by Londerrtain again, you’re always welcome.”

Kyungsoo softened. “I appreciate that.”

 

Jongin was waiting outside by the entrance already when Kyungsoo finally emerged alone. His arms were crossed, his back leaning to the wall. He looked at Kyungsoo, and the latter was slightly taken aback to find that Jongin almost seemed…angry.

“Wendy’s not with you?” Jongin said tersely.

“No,” Kyungsoo said, staring curiously at him.

Jongin unfolded his arms and turned away. “Let’s go, then.”

Kyungsoo followed him silently. Jongin’s expression was not a good one. The lines of his face were hardened, his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes dark with brooding displeasure. Kyungsoo can’t ever recall seeing Jongin this irate before.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Jongin’s scowl only seemed to deepen. “Fine. Everything’s delightful.”

Kyungsoo hesitated. “If I’ve done something to upset you…”

“There’s nothing to be upset over,” Jongin said, his voice clipped, but something in his eyes flickered and he turned his face away abruptly. For a long moment there was silence, and then he heaved a weary sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone less callous, but still tight around the edges. “I’m. I’m acting irrationally. I shouldn’t be angry with you.”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo said. “It’s possible that I have done something to anger you. Even if unintentionally.” His own level-headedness surprised him. Just two days ago this conversation would have irritated him into an equally foul mood. 

“I convinced Wendy to go home and forget everything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

Jongin looked at him after a short pause. His expression was blank. “She…that’s what it was? She was trying to convince you to let her come along?”

Kyungsoo nodded. “I told her no, of course. The things in your cousin’s room…” He trailed off. “I doubt letting her tag along would bring her any good.”

“Yes,” Jongin said. He took a thin breath. “I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo placed a hand on Jongin’s back amicably, to show that it was fine. The lord seemed to relax visibly beneath the touch, a tiny smile even coming over his lips. 

“I’m glad that’s sorted out,” Kyungsoo said. He looked at Jongin’s face, suddenly remembering Wendy’s words. 

_You’re much more than you pretend to be._

A crippling wave of remorse swelled up inside of him. Kyungsoo swallowed fiercely, before it could choke him. 

“I’m glad,” he repeated.

The Limping Lady was packed. With spirits as high as they were, it was as if some of the more well-to-do townsfolk had splurged on a grand wedding party and invited everyone to the celebration. Every chair and stool was filled, tankards of beer and platters piled high with cheese, nuts, haggis and roast mutton littering the tables. Men hollered from every corner for more food and drink. The bar maids balanced impressively large trays as they hurried this way and that, some of them purposely swishing their skirts as they went along. A full band was playing in the corner, with a young male bard leading the group, belting out the notes as if he had pressurized pipes instead of lungs in his ribcage. The place was well-lit, fragrant with the smell of garlic, meat and wine. On the wall over the bar, a great boar’s head loomed out over the festivities, its mighty tusks large enough to serve as casks of their own, if one of the patrons were to take notice and drunkenly decide to try their luck at breaking one off. 

Inside the tavern Kyungsoo relaxed. On a night as busy as this they were less likely to draw much attention to themselves. He slipped his way between stumbling townsmen and ducked the waitresses’ platters with ease. He made it to the bar with Jongin still struggling halfway behind him, trying to politely skirt around everyone instead.

“Two shots of vodka,” Kyungsoo said. The man behind the bar—a hulking bear of a man, with a thick beard black as night and as unruly as a tempest—nodded and brought out two glasses, filled it with the clear, oily liquid. Kyungsoo promptly shoved one into Jongin’s hands as the other finally broke free of the crowd and reached the bar, near sweating from the exertion. 

“How acquainted would you say you are with your regulars?” Kyungsoo said, while Jongin sniffed his drink cautiously behind him.

“Whose business is it how good I get on with my regulars?” the man asked gruffly. 

“Nobody’s. Certainly not mine. I’m just a fan, you see.” Kyungsoo smiled pleasantly. “I’d heard Johanna Haizmann frequented this establishment. I was hoping I’d get to see her in person.”

The bartender’s face darkened. “You’d best leave that poor girl alone,” he said. A warning. “She’s been through enough as it is.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“You don’t follow? And you’re her fan, you say? You better piss off before I chase you out of here with my cleaver.”

“Sir,” Jongin cut in then. “Forgive us, we didn’t realize Lady Haizmann wasn’t receiving fans. We’re not here to bother her for a painting or an autograph, if that’s your concern. We simply wanted to voice our admiration for her work. She’s quite the skilled artist. I can see you share the sentiment. That’s _Vaterunser_ on your wall there, is it not?”

The bartender followed Jongin’s gaze, as did Kyungsoo. Sure enough, there was a large triptych painting on the wall, nearly touching the floor and ceiling in equal measure. Kyungsoo was stunned to realize that he knew this painting. It depicted a man signing a pact with a well-dressed burgher: with ink in the left panel, with blood on the right. In its center, four disciples kneel before The Virgin Mary as she performs an exorcism. Kyungsoo hadn’t even noticed it when they came in.

“If you would be so kind as to relay the message for us,” Jongin said, “we shan’t disturb her, if that’s what you think is best.”

“Hang on.” The man sighed, his moustache fluttering a bit with the great exhale. “Two minutes. If I come in in two minutes and she look like she won’t have none of it, I’ll boot you out on your arses.”

Jongin smiled, a dazzling, flattering lord’s smile. “Thank you. Is she…?”

“In the other room, there.” The bartender inclined his head. “Always takes her stew in the corner. Poor thing always seems to be down in the dumps. Little admiration might do to lift her spirits a bit.”

Jongin bowed and repeated several more thanks, and Kyungsoo did his best to echo likewise. He raised a subtle eyebrow at Jongin when they were out of earshot. “Nicely done.”

Jongin blushed. “Thank you.” 

There was another room to the back, this one not filled with as many patrons—the party was clearly outside, so whoever was here was more interested in conversation, glasses still half-full as they listened seriously to the reports of recent politics or made educated guesses about the year’s crop. 

To the back, just as the barkeep described, was a lone woman, her bowl of food untouched as she scribbled on a piece of paper. She had a heavy garnet clock on, with the hood covering her head, and beneath that Kyungsoo could see she had wound the bottom half of her face with a patterned satin scarf. She was concentrated, deep in her own world, unperturbed by the other patrons or the great clamour in the next room.

Kyungsoo approached, trying to appear as unassuming as possible. “Johanna Haizmann?”

The woman looked up. Striking blue eyes stared piercingly up at him from beneath her hood, and like this Kyungsoo could see the flesh just below her lower lids was shiny, red and tender, as if a wound had just healed over. He recognized the look in the woman’s eyes, even with most of her face covered. It was the expression of one unspeakably and endlessly tortured. 

“I don’t know you,” Johanna said, her ringing voice cold and hard like a blade. 

“No, you don’t.” Kyungsoo felt the need to speak gently, as if conversing with a cornered animal. “I’m called Kyungsoo of Brodich. This is my companion, Jongin of the noble house Kim.” Then, after a moment of deliberation, he dropped all pretence and said, “A close friend of ours has gone missing. We believe he came to see you shortly before this happened.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed at once. “I knew I’d heard that name,” she said, almost under her breath. “You’re with that boy Joonmyun, aren’t you?”

Jongin leaned forward minutely, the name starting a reaction from him. Johanna noticed. “Of course you are. Well, first things first, your missing friend is probably dead. I warned him, endlessly. I told him everything, hoping it would scare him off. But he was headstrong, stubborn, the damn fool.”

“So you know what happened to him?” Jongin interjected, unable to contain himself.

The woman looked at him shrewdly. “You really think I’m just going to spill my guts in a place like this? Don’t be stupid. I can see you’re not here to goad me, so I’ll answer your questions. But not here. This calls for greater privacy.”

“Johanna?” The barkeep was looking in, his gaze subtly threatening. “Are these men bothering you?”

“No. We need to borrow your storeroom. I need a private word with them.”

Apparently the barkeep was more familiar with Johanna than he’d originally made it seem. He nodded without question. “S’all yours.”

“Thank you.” Johanna got up. Despite the lengths she’d gone to hide her appearance, she stood tall with her chin raised defiantly. Her body radiated hostility, in palpable, scalding waves. She must have endured long years ridicule and shame, Kyungsoo realized. Some of the men stared as she walked past, not without recognition. Whatever her story may have been, it was no stranger to these people. 

She led them to the storeroom, with its big sign on the front reading _Keep Out!! Management Only!!_. She lit one of the candles as Kyungsoo closed the door behind them. The room was filled with crates and barrels, meat and bushels of herbs hung to dry on the racks along the walls. 

Johanna faced them, her face barely visible now with her back to the candlelight. Like this, she had the visage of an ominous reaper, her cold steel voice carrying endless bitterness and misery. 

“I’m going to start by telling you the same thing I first told that boy,” Johanna said. “Don’t look into this. Don’t go chasing after it. This thing delights in the carelessness of desperate folk, takes advantage of it, turns it on its head for its own amusement.”

“Hold on,” Kyungsoo interrupted, before she could go any further. “It?”

“Yes. It. Him. The Devil himself.”

Jongin tensed next to Kyungsoo, his body rigid with dismay. It took a lot for Kyungsoo to keep his voice steady.

“How do you know?” he said finally.

Johanna laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “He’s everywhere. He is everyone and no one. He takes on different shapes, different disguises. Your friend Joonmyun had enough sense left to catch on to that, at least. All those stories you hear about demons making pacts with humans, everyone believes they’re all different. They aren’t. They’re the same one. They’ve always been the same one. Roaming the earth for thousands of years, with earliest records dating to the very beginning of civilization. This thing is timeless, and it is pure evil.” 

“But how could anyone possibly know that for sure?”

“He told me,” Johanna said, a deep, uncontrollable seizing of the muscles coming over her body at the very memory. “Said so himself. I believed him. After what he did to me, I’d have to be dumber than a skate fish not to believe him.”

Neither Kyungsoo nor Jongin spoke now, sensing the explanation was coming, that this was not something that could be pushed or hurried. Johanna took several minutes to collect herself, her face turned away and towards the ground. She wrung her trembling hands in front of her.

“I was born to a noble family. The eldest of two children. There was me, and my younger sister, Evelyn. I was…never close to her. 

“A young lord lived in the neighbouring town, heir to a large vineyard. There were odd rumours that circulated around him, rumours that talked of him disappearing sometimes at night, of him going out hunting alone without a weapon and returning, all bloodied, but without a wound. Or without any game, for that matter. Still, Evelyn fell instantly for him, and Hendrik for her. 

“But I knew. I wasn’t a fool like my sister. I understood the signs when I saw them. To see if they were true I snuck out one night while his lordship was visiting and spotted Hendrik going into the woods. I followed him. He went without a hunting party and without a weapon, as the rumours said. And as he went I hid among the trees and I watched him, and I saw. 

“I saw him turn into a werewolf.

“I was enraged. You see…I, too, loved Hendrik. And what I saw him for what he truly was, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter to me that that was his curse, his true nature. I loved him all the same. And yet it was Evelyn, sweet, lovely Evelyn, who was engaged to be married to him, and she didn’t even know. To me it seemed wholly cruel and unfair.”

Here Johanna paused. Kyungsoo saw another tremble come over her, as if her very words could summon the fears that haunt her day and night.

“He came to me,” Johanna said, voice wavering now, “on the night before the full moon. He appeared to me as a tall man with fiery red hair, and yellow-green eyes that glowed unnaturally, as if there was some strange energy burning behind them. He told me that he’d witnessed my suffering, that he’d be willing to propose an exchange so that I may have a single desire granted. And then I was the foolish sister. I agreed. When he asked what I wished for, I said to him, ‘I wish for Evelyn’s engagement to dissolve, and for Hendrik to see me, my feelings, for who I truly am.’”

As she repeated the words, they were filled with such anguish that Kyungsoo himself felt it, deep in the pit of his gut, like a rusty blade. 

“He agreed. Said the time of my payment would come soon enough, that I need not worry. I didn’t understand then. I only understood that my deepest and fiercest desires were about to come true. I hurried home, overcome with joy. I kissed my sister on both cheeks when I saw her. I was so, so happy.”

The candle little but a stub now, the flame flickering weakly as it began to graze against the melted wax at the bottom. Johanna reached over and picked up the stub, used it to light a few other candles before blowing it out. It was during this interval that Kyungsoo realized he was holding his breath.

“My sister was missing from her bed two days later,” Johanna said, her voice flat, empty. “The search took hours. Even the villagers lent a hand. Eventually we found her, in three pieces, not far from a deer carcass. She was…she’d been torn apart, viciously. 

“It was then I remembered. She’d spoken to me the day before of some kind of bloom in the woods which only opened its buds to the moonlight. The night before had been the full moon. I knew, then, although I didn’t want to believe it. There was no running from it. She’d probably encountered Hendrik while he was…feeding. Attacked and killed in a blind, senseless bloodthirst.

“I was wracked with guilt. I hadn’t wanted her to die! I only wanted her to find out what he was, for her to grow frightened and call off the engagement! Worst of all, Hendrik hadn’t a clue what he’d done. It seemed he didn’t retain memories of himself when he turned. The load was too much to bear. A month after Evelyn’s funeral I pulled him aside, tried to explain what had happened. I wanted forgiveness. I wanted to be relieved of my sins.

“Hendrik was furious. I begged with him, tried to tell him that I only did it out of love, love for him even while knowing what he truly was. But he wouldn’t hear of it.”

At that moment, Johanna fell silent. She reached up and drew her hood back from her head, then, with slow movements, she undid the scarf around her face and pulled it away. Kyungsoo’s breath caught in his throat, paralyzed. Beside him Jongin let out a horrified cry. 

Her face was horribly disfigured. Deep, swollen claw marks dig into the skin of cheeks and neck, the same shiny, tender quality to them that Kyungsoo had spotted earlier on her face. Two of them dug across her scalp, on the left side of her head, so that her thin, black hair only grew out in uneven tufts on the right side. Half of her nose was gone, as was part of her top lip.

Johanna’s blue eyes shone wildly out from the marred flesh that was once her face. “I made a fatal mistake,” she said. “I believed the legends. I thought werewolves only turned on the night of the full moon, against their will. But Hendrik transformed, right then and there, in the middle of the day. He attacked me. Left me choking on my own blood, and he disappeared. No one has seen nor heard of him since. My mother found me, and by some great, terrible twist of fate, I survived.”

Tears began to pool in her eyes. “I only ever saw that monster once more after that. He came to my room at night, while I was still bandaged and healing, unable to say anything. He told me he’d granted my wish, that Hendrik had seen me for who I truly was: ugly, manipulative, a creature with an appearance now less than human, in order to match my nature. He said that now I was paying up for my wish. He was right. My sister was dead, my love gone. My parents disowned me, not wanting someone as grotesque as me for an heir. They cast me out and told everyone I had succumbed to my injuries.

“People still stare at me when I walk past. I’ve had people who have fainted or puked at the sight of me. The locals are frightened of me, think I’ve been cursed somehow. They’re not wrong, in a way.”

Johanna reached up with her sleeve and wiped her eyes. She sniffed once, before composing herself again. “I told your friend Joonmyun exactly as I’ve just told you now. I told him the one thing he should’ve gotten into his damn head, after all the searching, all the chasing he’d done. That that… _creature_ doesn’t give you what he wants. He gives you what he asked for.” 

Silence enveloped them. The muffled sounds of laughter and merriment seeped in from outside the walls, but they fell flat on Kyungsoo’s ears, dropping away into the void of his thoughts. 

Johanna shrunk into herself, shoulders curling. “I’ve told you everything I know. Now leave me be. And if someone else comes to me looking for the lot of you, I won’t have any of it. This is the last time.”

“I...alright,” Kyungsoo said, the words “I’m sorry” and “I understand” dying on his lips. He could probably never truly understand; there was no point pretending for the sake of offering comfort. She wanted none.

Jongin was reluctant to leave, a million emotions flitting across his face as he looked at Johanna. Kyungsoo gently took hold of his wrist. “Come on.”

“I,” Jongin said, hesitantly. 

“Don’t thank me,” Johanna said. She was no longer looking at them. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Go. Leave.”

Finally, Jongin turned away, the action visibly paining him. Kyungsoo kept a steady hold on his arm as he led him out of the storeroom.


	4. Chapter 4

They were shaken. Kyungsoo was doing his best to keep a straight face, but in reality he was as unsettled as Jongin looked. He felt chilled, a sombre weight constricting his rib cage. The bustle of people around him was no longer a comfort. He wanted to retreat to their inn and sink into his thoughts as soon as possible.

Jongin was too distracted to efficiently make his way through the crowds of patrons, so Kyungsoo continued to lead him along, tugging on his wrist. It had gotten even busier since they’d walked in. The floors were wet and sticky with spilled beer, and the sheer number of bodies packed into the establishment had pushed the temperature up five degrees. Kyungsoo feel sweat breaking out along his neck and back.

As they moved along the front wall, nearly at the doors now, a man stumbled into Kyungsoo’s path. The swordsman stopped, barely avoiding knocking into him. “Excuse me,” he said, already trying to weave around him.

The man didn’t move. “By the Gods,” he breathed, his glassy eyes trying to focus on Kyungsoo’s face. “Kieran. Kieran the Mild. It’s you, isn’t it?”

It took everything, every ounce of his self-control, for Kyungsoo not to freeze in his spot. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to flee. Instead, he schooled his expression into one of polite confusion. 

“I’m sorry, come again?” Kyungsoo said.

“It’s you, right? I’ve got it right, haven’t I?” The man stumbled a little in his spot with a hiccup, reeking of vodka and vomit. “I’d know your face anywhere. You were in Ostia, when that group of bandits made off with three of our daughters. Gods, I never thought…to see you here, alive…”

Kyungsoo didn’t recognize this man’s face, but he remembered. The three girls, none of them older than fifteen, crowded in a wooden cage where the bandits had made camp not twenty miles from the village. Mothers, fathers, family members in tears as they raced to embrace their daughters and sisters. The alderman offering him all the gold they could scrounge, and then a meal when Kyungsoo refused the money. It had been years ago. But he remembered.

At that moment, Jongin stepped forward, a frown on his face as Kyungsoo stood with paralyzed vocal cords. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Jongin said. “The Order of the White Oaks apprehended Sir Kieran several days ago. He’s on his way to the capital now for trial.”

“And I’m afraid your information’s out of date,” the man fired back. “The bloke they found wasn’t Sir Kieran. Just some merchant trying to pawn off Sir Kieran’s armour to some wayward nobles. They realized they had the wrong man the second he was in the capital’s gates.” He burst out in laughter suddenly. “As if the man’s own city wouldn’t recognize him.”

Jongin looked at Kyungsoo, his eyes slowly taking on a hue of uncertainty, and that was what snapped Kyungsoo back into motion. 

To the surprise of both the other men, he began to laugh.

“My, I’d be hard-pressed to say I’m not flattered,” Kyungsoo said, smiling companionably. “I’ve heard a great many a tale about Sir Kieran’s handsome visage. Though I suppose nowadays a comparison would do me less than good, eh?”

The man floundered, obviously taken aback. Kyungsoo gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “I’d dare say that made my night!” he declared. “Wait until my sister hears this. Jongin, you heard the man, right? I’ll need you to testify for me that I didn’t fib this up.”

“I—yes, of course,” Jongin said, equally confused. 

“What?” the man nearly shouted, stumbling again in his spot. “That can’t be right. I swear I’d remember your face if it—”

“Mind your step,” Kyungsoo said suddenly, and, in a quick and subtle movement, took hold of the man by his upper arms and swung him about, with just enough momentum to send him stumbling and crashing into two other patrons. His flailing arms knocked into theirs and caused their beer to spill, before he went sprawling to the ground on his ass. A volley of angry yells instantly overtook the din, drawing the attention of the immediate crowd.

Kyungsoo grabbed hold of Jongin’s hand and pulled him out of the tavern.

 

 

Jongin didn’t say a word the entire way back to the inn. Not a single one. Kyungsoo almost didn’t notice, too focused on his racing heartbeat that wouldn’t calm down, the heightened anxiety that hurried his steps through the nooks and alleys of the city. He did his best to keep off the main roads. When they reached the inn Kyungsoo led them inside though a side entrance, and tugged Jongin along impatiently, up two flights of stairs and down the hall to their shared room for the night. 

It was only with the door shut behind them that Kyungsoo finally let go of his hand, sucking in a deep, much needed breath. In the quiet stillness of the room, he became aware of himself. A subtle tremor had come over his hands, his tunic done up far too tightly across his chest, almost making it impossible to breathe. He reached up and tried to undo the fastenings, his fingers fumbling slightly.

“He wasn’t lying, was he?”

Kyungsoo turned. Jongin was still standing near the doorway, posture stiff. His eyes were narrowed and accusing. 

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Jongin said. “You’re Kieran the Mild.”

Kyungsoo looked away. He shut his eyes tightly. “Yes.”

There was a long silence to follow. If he moves, Kyungsoo thought, if he moves, what do I do? Do I let him go? Do I kill him? The thought turned his stomach. It was the smart thing to do. He knew that. But when it came down to it, he didn’t know if he could, anymore. 

“How…” Jongin’s voice was hoarse, filled with a million questions. Anger. Confusion. Betrayal. “Your name…?”

“Kyungsoo is my real name. It always has been. But the king rewards you with a knight’s name when you join the Round Table. It was then that I became Kieran the Mild. Not many people know this. It’s why I’ve been able to use my name so freely.”

“Then it’s true? What people are saying?”

Kyungsoo said nothing.

“Why did you desert them?” Jongin asked.

“That’s…it’s not easy to explain,” Kyungsoo responded. “Listen to me, Jongin. There are more important things at hand. There is a favor I must request of you.”

Jongin let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “A favor?” he said in disbelief. “You lie to me, over and over again, you endanger me simply by being in the company of a crown fugitive, and you expect me to do you a favor?”

“Yes,” Kyungsoo said, his gaze heavy. “Tomorrow I want you to go home.”

“You _what?_ ”

“Please, this isn’t easy for me. I’m…I’m asking as someone who cares about what happens to you. I know how much this means to you. Your family and your name is important to you. Doing right by Joonmyun is important to you. I know that. And I know you’re planning to try and find that damned _thing_ , I can see it in your face. But I can’t protect you from something like this. This is beyond us. You heard that girl, you were there in that tavern with me.”

“Do you really expect me to still pay you and let you—”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Kyungsoo cut in sharply. “The reward doesn’t matter anymore. No amount of gold is worth just leaving you to head straight into death like this, or worse. Would you stand here and pretend that you didn’t see that woman’s face? That you didn’t hear how that devil twisted her words and wishes against her?”

“I must be losing my head,” Jongin said, taking a step forward. His dark eyes were fiery with anger. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be hearing this right now. After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve had to leave behind, suddenly you care? You, who reacted with offense when you found out that I hadn’t told you the full truth about my cousin? Who are you to ask anything of me?”

“Jongin—”

“No, you listen to me. I don’t know a damn thing about you! I have no idea what else you’ve lied about, whether anything you’ve ever said to me had any truth in it! Now you say you care about what happens to me? That you want me to go home because you’re afraid for my life? Who the fuck do you think you are? What exactly are you trying to _do?_ ”

“I’m trying to do the right thing!” Kyungsoo exploded.

The words shocked them both, the cry electric with such emotion that Jongin was stunned straight out of his rage. Kyungsoo couldn’t help but step back, fear taking over his features. He hadn’t intended to sound so desperate, so vulnerable. They stared at each other, the silence vibrating with the echo of Kyungsoo’s outburst. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo said roughly, voice faltering. “I—I shouldn’t have said—forgive me, I’ll just—“

“Wait, wait, slow down.” Jongin reached out just as Kyungsoo was about to flee past him and run out the door. Without warning he pulled Kyungsoo into his chest and held him tightly. Kyungsoo froze up, but he didn’t move, his heart thundering.

“Slow down,” Jongin said again. “Just—don’t run away from me, okay?”

Kyungsoo shuddered, and with that his body went slack, barely keeping it together in Jongin’s embrace. He closed his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t…I never wanted to hurt you, I never wanted…”

“I know, I know. It’s okay, Kyungsoo. I hear you. It’s okay…”

Kyungsoo didn’t know how it happened. One minute Jongin was holding him, and Kyungsoo held him back, their hands running over each other’s backs and arms with an urgency Kyungsoo couldn’t place; and then, suddenly, Kyungsoo’s mouth was on his. Jongin’s lips were soft and feverish, and Kyungsoo kissed him hard and deep, taking everything Jongin had to offer. A helpless noise escaped Jongin’s throat as the other crushed him to his chest, his blood thrumming with the need for closeness.

They pulled back panting, now stunned silent for completely different reasons. Every part of Kyungsoo’s body felt hot with want. Jongin’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy. He gripped at Kyungsoo’s shoulders.

“Do that again,” he breathed pleadingly.

Kyungsoo did.

 

The window was opened a bit, in order to let a cool breeze into the room, but they kept the blinds pulled shut; they already had enough to be worried about without someone spotting them in the building across. The candles flickered gently with each passing hush of the night wind. The warm scent of flesh and sweat slowly mellowed out, and the original perfume of cedarwood began to pervade the room again.

Jongin kept stroking Kyungsoo’s forehead, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. His eyes were full of quiet contemplation. “This isn’t why you ran, is it?” he asked.

He hadn’t motioned between them, but Kyungsoo knew what he meant. He closed his eyes as a thumb swept over his brow bone. “No,” he breathed out. 

Jongin waited.

“There’s a code that knights have to follow when they take up the oath. A chivalric code of honor. One of the commandments states that if our enemies plead for mercy, then we must grant it, regardless of crime or circumstance. That never used to be a problem, but...I came across a farm while on patrol, a couple months ago. A group of bandits had raided the place, looking for food I guess, or maybe they thought the farmer had some riches hidden on his land. I don’t know anymore. But they’d slaughtered all of the livestock, killed the farmer at his kitchen table, and then they’d thrown his daughter into the haystack just outside. They were taking turns…and they were…”

A cold shiver came over him against his will. “The fourth one, after I’d cut down his three companions, began to beg for his life as he knelt bleeding before me. But something had come over me, seeing what they did to that girl. I’d never been so angry, so full of bloodthirst. Here was this man, a murderer, a thief, a rapist, a man who’d probably never granted any of his victims mercy, and I was to spare him? I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bear to let him go. So, I killed him too.”

Kyungsoo took a deep breath. “I’ll never forget the way that girl cried.”

Jongin said nothing at first. He found Kyungsoo’s hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing his fingers gently, and Kyungsoo let the tenseness seep from his body. 

“As soon as I’d done it I knew there was no going back. So I ran,” Kyungsoo said. “My original crime was desertion, but I think the girl…she may have gone to give a witness testimony, maybe hoping they’d pardon me for saving her. I noticed one day the notices about me were suddenly much more urgent-sounding, and the price on my head had gone up. At that point…well.”

“I understand,” Jongin murmured. He offered his other hand, and Kyungsoo took it readily. “I’m sor—”

“Stop. Don’t apologize anymore. You’ve done enough of that already.”

“No, I mean…that’s not what I’m…”

“You’re sorry because you’re still going to contact that beast?” 

Jongin looked away guiltily. Kyungsoo sighed.

“I know. I know I can’t stop you. There’s probably nothing in my power that could make you stop no matter how much I wanted it. So I’ll retract my original request. I want a week instead.”

“A week? For what?”

“For you,” Kyungsoo said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us once we go through with this. Don’t tell me I don’t have to do this with you if I don’t want to, because I won’t leave you to face that thing alone. So I want a week first. Give me a week to have you to myself, before you do this. Please.”

Jongin flushed, a soft red hue that dusted over his glistening bronze cheekbones. Kyungsoo reached out and touched a finger to it, wanting to feel how hot his skin was. 

“Okay,” Jongin said softly. 

Relief swept over Kyungsoo like high tide. He pulled Jongin close and kissed his face gently, and he felt Jongin’s body relax into his chest with a content sigh, his breath hot and wet over his bare collarbones. 

“Please don’t burn the tunic,” Jongin mumbled into his skin. “I like it.”

“We can talk that one over later.”

 

They left Londerrtain in the early hours of the morning, before the sun could breach the uneven horizon of mountains in the distance, leaving few witnesses to see them depart. They travelled carefully and cautiously, favouring uneven or difficult terrain over the main open roads. Provisions had been stocked up on before their leave, and so the need to use an inn for the night no longer harried over their heads. They camped in the forests, ate their dried meat and fruits and nuts, and they rolled out their sleeping bags and huddled close before the fading embers of their campfires. More often than not, Jongin would snuggle close as they lay down and wrap Kyungsoo’s body up with his long limbs. Kyungsoo was grateful for the body warmth, and for the warmth it sparked in his chest, too. He wondered, fleetingly, if Jongin would hold him like this every night from now on.

The journey back was longer than it took to set out, but they made it, eventually. Six days in total. Jongin apparently thought that the trip counted for the week Kyungsoo had asked for, and was surprised to hear that Kyungsoo thought differently on the matter, but his arguments quickly fell short when Kyungsoo succeeded in pushing him onto his bed and started littering his neck with love bites.

“You said a _week,_ ” Jongin stuttered out, gasping as Kyungsoo sucked a mark at the junction of his shoulder, greedy hands already slipping up underneath his shirt. 

“You call living like outlaws and shitting in the bushes a good time? I meant a proper week. With you, like this. So don’t think you can escape from me until seven more days from now.”

Maybe Jongin had something else to say, but then Kyungsoo was parting his lips with a skillful tongue, and all that came out of Jongin’s mouth was a moan.

 

Yixing gave Kyungsoo an earful, not that it was unexpected. From the head injury that Jongin still bore a small piece of gauze over, to the fact that Jongin was never five feet from Kyungsoo and without unadulterated adoration in his eyes, there were a lot of things that Kyungsoo had fucked up. There was little Kyungsoo could do to defend himself.

“I knew I should’ve talked him out of it,” Yixing fumed, as Kyungsoo stood awkwardly to one side of the stables, already having been rejected in his offer to help him pack his saddle bags. The game master was to be away for a few days, at the nearest town in search of new breeches and some timber. “As if siphoning extra gold out of him wasn’t enough. To think that you would take advantage of—”

“I am not taking advantage of him,” Kyungsoo snapped, a flicker of anger licking up his chest. “But you wouldn’t believe me even if I said I cared about him.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t like you. You’re hiding something, and that really gets on my nerves.”

“My sharing or not sharing my personal life is none of your business. And I don’t have any secrets with Jongin anymore. I’ve told him everything.”

“Yes, you have, and he’s been extremely adamant about not giving you away to me. Which means that whatever you’re up to, it’s not good news. He’s protecting you, of all things. Have you even given any thought to him? To the fact that his cousin and mother have died, that he’s in charge of this place all alone, that he barely has any idea what he’s doing? What will you do when you leave and he begs with you not to go?”

“For your information,” Kyungsoo said, the blood rushing to his head now, “I haven’t given any thought to leaving. I don’t know what I’m planning to do come a week, a month from now. But that’s something that will be decided between Jongin and myself. Regardless of how much you detest having me here.”

“Suit yourself,” Yixing spat, climbing up onto his horse. “But if you hurt him, or put him in any danger, I swear I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

With that he spurred his horse hard, sending the colt straight into a gallop and out of the stable doors. Kyungsoo watched him go, a headache already settling in behind his eyeballs.

“It wouldn’t take much,” Kyungsoo murmured, even though Yixing was gone. “That I can assure you.”

 

After that things became blissfully quiet. Kyungsoo found that he felt less constrained when moving around the estate, and was glad of it, for poor Irene had been left the sole caretaker of both the house and its master. He set himself to trailing after her for the first couple of days, leaping at the first opportunity when it looked as though she was struggling with heavy objects or needed a hand folding laundry. Irene kept giving him a suspicious side-eye at first, but it gradually subsided with time. 

He found himself wandering into Jongin’s study after helping with putting things away in cupboards too high for Irene’s reach. The lord had been busy meanwhile responding to letters of condolences from the extended relatives and family friends. Kyungsoo chose not to call for his attention, seeing his back curved with concentration over the writing desk, and unceremoniously flopped onto Jongin’s soft downy sheets. 

“I hope you didn’t track mud in again,” Jongin said without looking up.

“If I said I did, would you be convinced to join me in the bathtub again like you did yesterday?”

“Don’t be so vulgar,” Jongin said. Kyungsoo didn’t have to look over to know that Jongin was blushing. “Give me a moment. I’ve almost finished.”

Kyungsoo waited obediently. He piled all of the pillows on top of one another, in order to create a backrest, and sank blissfully against them, now sitting upright and able to watch Jongin’s back. The handsome line of his broad shoulders showed faintly in the loose shirt he was wearing, and Kyungsoo allowed his eyes to trail over them.

Eventually Jongin stretched and heaved a sigh, putting his pen down on the desk.

“Jongin?”

“Mm?”

“What do you plan to do when you summon that demon?”

Jongin turned in his chair to look at him, one arm resting over the back of it. He pressed his lips together, concern filling his features. “I...I don’t know. I mean, I want answers. That’s the most important thing to me. But I’ve asked myself if I can handle walking away with just that much. A part of me still boils with anger at what he’s done to my family.”

“You can’t fight it,” Kyungsoo said frankly. “Neither can I.”

“I know.”

“Listen, Jongin. Maybe this doesn’t mean anything coming from me, we’ve barely known each other a month. But you’ve done more than a mother or cousin could ever ask for. Sometimes these things aren’t about exacting revenge. You aren’t a bad person if you decide to end things here and let it be. You’ve proven time again that you’d go to the ends of the earth and stare the devil in the face in order to do the right thing, and that’s more that can be said for a lot of people who have lost someone dear to them. It’s courageous and it’s admirable, and...would you stop staring at me like that?” Kyungsoo stammered, feeling his neck heat up.

“Can’t help it,” Jongin said, smiling faintly. “Kyungsoo, can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask me,” Kyungsoo said, and was shocked to see the way Jongin’s face lit up with grateful affection, as if Kyungsoo had just given him the whole world and the skies to accompany it. It provoked an intense desire in him, the determination to keep giving himself to Jongin like this, and as Jongin joined him on the mountain of pillows and opened his arms to hold him Kyungsoo felt at ease, for the first time in months. Maybe, he was finally getting somewhere. Maybe he was finally doing something right.

For a while, Kyungsoo was content. 

 

He couldn’t remember what he’d been doing anymore. 

Maybe he’d been petting Fergus in his room, crouching down to rub the little beast’s belly as he rolled over at Kyungsoo’s feet and whined for attention. Maybe he’d been taking a stroll through the gardens behind Jongin’s mansion, with Jongin walking next to him, his voice shy and happy. Maybe he’d been reading a book in the main room, with Jongin’s head on his lap, warm and steady; or maybe he’d dropped the book when Jongin’s fingers had mischievously crept along his inner thigh. He didn’t know. He didn’t remember anymore.

But he remembered the scream. 

It was short, and partly muffled, barely a scream at all; but it was filled with terror. Kyungsoo remembered running, dropping whatever it was he’d been doing, blindly bolting to the front of the mansion where the sound had originated. 

Fifteen feet ahead of him, a hunched figure among the overgrown rose bushes, was Irene kneeling on the cobblestone path and cradling something in her arms. Her back was turned to him, making it difficult to see what it was, but as Kyungsoo approached Irene turned her fear-stricken face towards him, and her body shifted, showing that it was Yixing. He was deathly pale and covered in cold sweat, body limp and head rolling in her lap. His horse was grazing near the estate gates, its entire left shoulder soaked in bright red blood. 

“Christ…” Jongin, next to him, both of them kneeling in front of Irene now. “Oh Gods, oh, _fuck_ …”

The wound wasn’t deep, but it was messy, and had grazed a major artery. Kyungsoo took one look after ripping the blood-soaked cotton of his shirt away and knew it was over. He’d been bleeding out for far too long. 

Yixing’s pupils shook as they focused on Kyungsoo’s face, his eyes already clouding over, but the rage in them was palpable. “You whoreson,” Yixing hissed, with his last, few dying breaths. “You goddamn fucking son of a bitch.”

And in that moment, Kyungsoo knew. 

 

“You don’t have to go alone,” Jongin said desperately, trying to catch Kyungsoo’s arms as the other struggled to saddle his horse. “Please, don’t do this on your own, I want to go with you—”

“Listen, the one they’re after isn’t you. So far nobody who’s seen me knows who you are and we have to keep it that way. The less you’re seen with me the better. If we’re lucky I can cut them off from here and divert them somewhere else, and then they’ll be too distracted with me to remember I was ever travelling with anyone. You don’t deserve to run away like this. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s not the point!” Jongin’s eyes began to fill with tears. It hurt Kyungsoo to force himself to look away. “I don’t want you to leave like this. What if they catch up to you? What if I never see you again?”

“You will,” Kyungsoo said firmly. “I promise you’ll see me again. I’m going to come back. I don’t know how, but I will fix this. So promise me you won’t do anything reckless while I’m away. Promise me, Jongin.”

“I—I promise.”

They reached for each other at the same time, sweeping each other in a bone-crushing hug. A single sob left Jongin’s mouth at the contact, one that almost wasn’t heard with the collision of their bodies, and then he swallowed the rest down. Kyungsoo buried his face in Jongin’s neck and inhaled deeply.

“Don’t die,” Jongin said, his voice watery. 

“I won’t. I’m not done with you yet.”

 

Discretion was now the last thing on his mind. He made sure his face was perfectly visible as he cantered through the village, not stopping or looking away from the road ahead while shouts of alarm and recognition floated up from all sides. Kyungsoo suspected one of the villagers had given them away, and the news was of the exact sort to spread among the peasants like wildfire. The more witnesses to see him flee, the better.

He sped into a full-fledged gallop as soon as he was on the main road, turning opposite of the direction from which Yixing had come. He didn’t realize it, too focused on putting as much distance between him and the village as possible, but the line of his jaw tightened. He could still see in his mind’s eye the loathing that had filled Yixing’s eyes even as he was dying. He’d been right all along. Kyungsoo never should have lingered here.

He rode at full speed for a long time. Persimmon’s coat began to glisten with sweat, the only sign of exhaustion the mare showed. Kyungsoo looked up, saw that the daylight was beginning to go out of the sky, streaking the world around him in orange and blood-red.

“Just a little longer,” Kyungsoo said into Persimmon’s ear, and heard the mare snort in response.

Up ahead the road forked off, showing a side path that led to a sparsely wooded area, the trees thin and brittle with some kind of sickness. Kyungsoo veered on to it, then slowed Persimmon to a trot, hoping that they were at least partially obscured from sight. There was no wind in the air, the trees and grasses stock-still around them. It unsettled the swordsman. No natural landscape would ever stand so inanimate. It was as if the place was suffocated by some invisible barrier, cutting it off from the rest of the world.

Persimmon began to toss her head and make short whinnying noises, irritated with exhaustion.

“Hush,” Kyungsoo said, distracted. 

It was hard to tell now where he was or how far he had travelled. These woods were unfamiliar to him, having never taken this road before. Up ahead, the edge of the tree line was slowly drawing close. Beyond it Kyungsoo could make out a three-way crossroad in the center of large, endless fields, marked only a massive oak tree looming overhead of it, easily two hundred years old. In comparison to the woods that they were about to leave, the vast open face seemed too exposing. Kyungsoo hesitated, finally drawing his reigns short as he nearly breached the edge of the forest. 

If it weren’t for that, he might not have heard the sound of hooves thundering in the distance.

The sheer frequency and overlap immediately told Kyungsoo that it was more than just three or four riders. Panic shot through him like an arrow. He leapt off his horse and began to pull Persimmon off the road by the bridle. “Come on, come on,” Kyungsoo urged, and Persimmon flicked her ears, responding to the anxiety in his master’s voice.

The procession was drawing closer now. Kyungsoo realized he wasn’t going to get them both deep enough into the brush in time. In a split-second decision he turned and whipped the mare’s thigh with his leather-gloved hand. “Go!” he snapped.

Persimmon snorted once before bolting off further into the forest. 

Kyungsoo dropped to the ground and submerged himself into a nearby viburnum bush, hoping that there was enough shadow cast over him now that the sun had set below the horizon. Every muscle in his body tensed up, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being detected. He could feel the sweat dripping down his neck, his heart hammering mercilessly inside of his throat. He waited.

Through the branches of the viburnum, Kyungsoo saw a squadron of nearly thirty men cantering past, their procession speedy and orderly as they breached the road from which Kyungsoo had just come. At the front of the battalion their leader bore the flag of the White Oaks, and the rest all bore torches behind him, their silver armour shining maliciously in the fire light. They were moving fast, but Kyungsoo saw, without difficulty, that every last one of them was armed.

The swordsman watched, frozen, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. There was no way, no discernible reason whatsoever, that the King should send thirty men to retrieve him. More than thirty, in fact, for there was the squadron that had attacked Yixing to be accounted for as well. At this point Kyungsoo was forced to take into consideration that there be even more numbers he wasn’t aware of, meaning…

Realization struck him like a blow to the chest, knocking the air out of him. The sound of soldiers’ horses galloping away deeper into the woods had barely drifted out of earshot before he stumbled out of the bush with weak legs, running out onto the road beyond the edge of the forest. 

Those soldiers weren’t coming for Kyungsoo. This wasn’t an arrest anymore. 

“Persimmon!” Kyungsoo shouted. He let out a piercing whistle, over and over again. “Fuck—Persimmon! Persimmon!”

There was no response. His horse was somewhere Kyungsoo’s voice couldn’t reach him. Now there was no way he could get back to Hawick in time. Kyungsoo’s knees buckled for a moment, and it registered that he was beginning to hyperventilate. He stopped for a moment to force several deep breaths, bent over, eyes clenched tightly shut. 

Images flashed through his mind. He thought of the villagers of Hawick, with their houses of wood and straw and thatched mud, the children in stained dresses playing by the fields of hollyhock. He thought of Yixing’s body, covered with a blanket and abandoned in the straw of the stables, for whom there had been no time to bury. He thought of Jongin, alone with Irene in his home, both of them unarmed and utterly defenceless. Jongin with his bandaged head, Jongin with his long gentle fingers intertwined with his, Jongin with his heartbreaking and beautiful untainted smile. 

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo hissed, the urge to scream crippling him. “For Gods’ sake, please…”

“Haven’t you lived long enough to know the gods can’t hear you?”

Kyungsoo immediately shot upright, one hand on the hilt of his sword. For the first time, he realized that he was standing beneath the oak tree, right in the center of the open crossroads. At first glance he saw no one, but he already knew, deep in his mind, that the sound had not come from behind him.

He looked up.

Luhan grinned down at him, his feet swinging back and forth as his legs dangled from the branch he sat upon, about twenty feet off the ground. He was dressed the same as the day Kyungsoo had first seen him. Behind him, through the foliage of the oak, the clouds began to disperse, and a full moon slowly appeared in the night sky, illuminating everything in a pale white light. The hilt of Kyungsoo’s sword began to glisten. 

“Of course, that’s still taking into account the idea that the gods exist at all,” Luhan continued. “Although I can confirm for you that that’s far from the case. Sorry if I burst any bubbles.”

The air had changed. There was a deep, hollowing aura that vibrated around the boy in the tree, and it chilled Kyungsoo to the very core of his body. There was nothing natural about it. The pieces slowly began to fall together in Kyungsoo’s head. 

“It’s you,” Kyungsoo said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Isn’t it?”

Luhan smiled, then hoisted himself off the branch and hopped to the ground. The drop should have been enough to stagger him at the very least, more likely to sprain his ankles; but when he landed, his feet touched the ground softly, with no impact whatsoever. He may as well have been sitting an inch from the ground. 

“Good deductions,” Luhan said amicably, his tone light and lilting, as if seeing a close friend again after a very long time. “I knew you were a smart one when I first saw you. I must say I was very intrigued at first to see you let our young lord gallivant you across the country like a loyal hunting dog. You seemed so certain that the late Joonmyun had been up to no good.”

“I can’t say I’m pleased my suspicions were correct,” Kyungsoo said. He could feel his body beginning to tremble, and he clenched his fists, doing his best to suppress it. “So what are you, exactly? You can shape shift, it seems. The description Johanna gave of the man who helped her doesn’t match your appearance. And you can grant wishes, albeit not very efficiently.”

“You don’t think so?” Luhan said, almost genuinely surprised. “I thought I did a fair job interpreting their demands. Johanna asked that Hendrik see her for who she truly was, and so he did. Our friend Joonmyun, who had to meet such a gruesome and untimely end, asked that he alone by all circumstance be the groom that would marry his beloved. And I should certainly say he was the groom by all circumstance. What’s better than to have a family fortune fall into your lap, or for your competition to magically disappear?”

“Don’t take me for an idiot,” Kyungsoo said, bristling. “You purposely twist their words on them. None of them would have reached out to you for help had they known of the consequences.”

“Well, it’s hardly my fault if they dove in with their heads in their arses. Isn’t it always ‘Be careful what you wish for’? But I digress. I meant to talk about you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?”

“Why, I wanted to thank you. I was very flattered to see that you and Lord Jongin had taken such a…personal interest in me. And of course, I didn’t forget to thank Jongin as well.”

“You mean with all those soldiers riding in to burn Hawick to the ground?” Kyungsoo said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, no, that wasn’t me. I just slipped the villagers a clue here and there that their young lord was accommodating a very high-profile fugitive in his home. Gave them a bit of room to come to their own conclusions. Although I never prompted them to ask for such numbers. The Church of the White Oaks decided on their own that all of Hawick was guilty for hiding such a criminal. Really a shame. They were just beginning to prosper as a community.”

“So is that why you’re here talking to me, then? Because you knew that things were about to get hot down there?”

“Oh, very much the opposite. I thought I’d swing by to warn you of the danger you’d left dear Jongin in. But it seems you were already aware of such, so I suppose I don’t serve much use here anymore, do I?”

For a long moment, a heavy silence hung between them, broken only by a slight breeze that whistled through the oak’s branches. Slowly, Kyungsoo removed his hands from his sword. They dropped to his sides lifelessly.

“I think we both know,” Kyungsoo said, “that you’re lying.”

Luhan grinned wickedly, and with his back to the moon his face twisted grotesquely in the shadows cast over his features. “Oh, you are a bright one, aren’t you?”

“Stop patronizing me, and get to the point. How does this work?”

“Oh, it’s very simple. You want to save Jongin and his little anthill of peasants from being gutted horrifically by the White Oaks. I can provide said solution. All you have to do is agree to it. No papers, no blood oaths, none of that arid drivel. Just you, me, and my word.”

Luhan smiled. The bottom half of his face relaxed, but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes, an unnatural glow that sent a hard chill down Kyungsoo’s spine. “Time is running out, Kyungsoo of Brodich. A choice must be made. Do we have a deal? Will you save our dear Jongin from his inexorable end?”

The wind was soft and warm on Kyungsoo’s ears. The fields of grain were rustling in gentle waves around them, a vast, endless silence sweeping through the tips of the stalks. No one was around for miles now. They were utterly alone on the edge of the world.

Luhan stood across from him patiently, waiting. To think, Kyungsoo thought, just a month ago, devils didn’t exist. Jongin’s face floated through his mind again, smiling, loving. He turned his face to the sky one last time. 

“Alright,” Kyungsoo said. “We have a deal.”


End file.
